An Imperfect Fit
by PenelopeMoss
Summary: A Drinny story set during HBP. Ginny senses Draco Malfoy is up to something when she catches him in the corridors looking like he's been crying. She decides to follow him, and finds out that he is hiding the Dark Mark. Only now, she doesn't know if she can tell anyone his secret.
1. Chapter 1: Hallway Run-Ins

A/N: This is a Drinny piece that takes place during HBP. I had abandoned this fic as basically complete, but recently had the urge to continue for a few more chapters. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! I appreciate the feedback :) I've gone back and edited the first few chapters to clean them up a bit, and I've added chapter names to make it easier to navigate. I don't know if anyone out there is still reading HP fanfiction in 2019, but I know I am!

 **Chapter 1: Hallway Run-Ins**

 _Ginny_

Ginny hurries down the corridor, already late for Transfiguration. This stretch of hallway feels unnaturally still after the disjointed clamour of voices in the Great Hall. Lunch has only just ended, yet it feels like everybody is already in their places: in the classrooms, or outside in the early-spring sunshine, or in their common rooms. Or maybe snogging in dark crannies behind the coats of armour. She thinks briefly of Dean, the last boy she'd snogged, but her mind doesn't linger.

She hears shuffling of footsteps and erratic breathing, and before Ginny can lift her eyes, someone bumps into her.

Malfoy. He grunts in surprise and drops his books as Ginny regains her balance.

"Watch it, will you?" he snaps, his voice hoarse, and bends low to gather his things.

" _You_ ran into _me_ , you git."

He looks odd. She watches him jerk his books back into his arms, and his blond hair is falling all over his face instead of slicked back as usual. His face is splotchy, red around the eyes. He looks, Ginny realizes with a shock, like he's been crying.

He's also alone, and Ginny never sees him alone like this. "What are you doing?" she asks, suspicious now.

"Get out of my way, Weasley." He shoves past her and hurries down the corridor in the opposite direction.

He is never alone, Ginny thinks again. Whenever she sees Malfoy, he is with his cronies, or with a band of Slytherins, or with his Quidditch mates. She wonders if she ought to follow him, but he is already far down the long corridor, turning a corner.

A few nights ago in the common room, sitting around the low-burning fire, Harry, Ron and Hermione were mulling over the necklace that attacked Katie Bell. Harry kept insisting that Malfoy was behind it. Harry seems obsessed with Malfoy this year, convinced he is up to something.

Ginny didn't believe it then. Whatever Malfoy is up to, it's never anything that matters. Bullying first-years, abusing his prefect status, and sneering all over the Gryffindors is basically what Malfoy is up to. And also saying, " _My father_ this, and _My father_ that."

Except now, of course, Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban and Malfoy doesn't bring him up so much anymore.

Ginny fiddles with the hilt of her wand, undecided. Should she follow him? His eyes were red, and he looked anxious … She just knows he'd been crying. Maybe Harry is right to be suspicious. She is not exactly part of the trio-detective squad, but she _is_ part of Dumbledore's Army, and she is already so late for Transfiguration that she may as well miss it altogether. Her friends will worry, but she'll make something up when she sees them later in the Gryffindor common room. Maybe she'll even have news for Harry by then.

Ginny hurries down the corridor after Malfoy. She sprints forward, and when she catches sight of his blond head in the distance, she slows down and proceeds more cautiously. They pass a group of Ravenclaws and then turn a corner to head down the main staircase. He's probably going back to his common room, which Ginny knows is in the dungeons somewhere. She follows him down another, smaller set of stairs, and it feels colder down here and more deserted. The corridor narrows and begins to branch off. Malfoy takes a sharp left. She keeps her distance behind him, hiding behind corners and casting a muffling spell to obscure her steps, but Malfoy is not looking around.

He seems all in his head, walking forward with his schoolbooks crushed against his chest.

Lamps have been lit all along the corridor even though it is daytime, and they cast rippling shadows along the stone walls. Ginny thinks that he's bound to go into his common room at any second. She won't be able to follow him there, of course. So she won't have found out anything after all.

Malfoy slows down. Ginny takes a few cautious steps forward, thinking they've reached the entrance, but suddenly he whirls to face her directly. His eyes are fiercely narrowed, but his pale face is still splotchy-looking.

"You're following me!" he says angrily. "I saw you, Weasley. I saw your shadow behind me. What do you think you're doing?" He's reaching for his wand.

Ginny makes a rash decision. She draws her own wand and shouts _"Expelliarmus!"_

Malfoy's wand flies out of his grasp. Ginny advances on him. "I wasn't following you, Malfoy. I was just going this way. Don't be paranoid."

He looks livid at having lost his wand, which is lying on the floor below a painting of a dour-looking witch with large spectacles. He's breathing hard and the colour is rising in his cheeks.

"You're lying, obviously. Did Potter send you?" Malfoy's grey eyes are wide and shot with red. "You don't have any business here. You don't have any classes in the dungeons, Weasley, except Potions, and we're nowhere near the Potions classroom." He advances on her suddenly, and he is surprisingly tall, and uncomfortably close. He steps right up to her face and grips her wrist at the wand-arm. His grip is strong, his breath coming fast. "You shouldn't have disarmed me, Weasley," he hisses.

Ginny is momentarily shaken, but she recovers. Living with five older brothers, she's used to boys using height and bravado to make up for a general lack of skill. She barrels into Malfoy with her left shoulder, loosening his grip on her arm, and cries _"Flipendo!"_

He flies backwards and lands on his arse. He scampers to his feet while Ginny raises her wand again, a broad smile on her face.

"Dueling in the hallways!" Filch has materialized from nowhere. "Well, well…Weasley and Malfoy, and you a prefect at that." Filch leers at Malfoy and draws out his words like he's savouring the sweet taste of justice. "A pair of delinquents, hmm Mrs. Norris?" The scraggly cat is picking its way between his legs. Filch turns to them. "What do you think you're doing running about the hallways, causing mayhem. Casting dangerous spells."

"They're not dangerous," Ginny begins to protest, but Filch scowls at her.

"What is going on here?" Snape's voice carries down the corridor. He swoops in like a greasy, oversized bat, and he sounds pleasantly surprised. Ginny looks up at the Potions Master. He has a nasty smirk on his sallow face. Funny how much they all love catching Gryffindors in some wrongdoing. Snape is practically giddy.

Then, he notices Malfoy bending down to retrieve his wand, and a flicker of concern darts across his features.

* * *

Ginny has detention. So does Malfoy. Tomorrow night. Snape would have let Malfoy off the hook if it weren't for Filch, who insisted on placing the blame for misdemeanors on both of them. Filch would never let a detention slip by. He gets off on each one, as if frustrating the student body is his only and greatest pleasure. The git.

Ginny charges back to the Gryffindor Common Room. She stomps on each one of the steps leading up to the tower. She's fuming by the time the portrait of the fat lady swings open.

Dean is sitting on the saggy couch in front of the fireplace. She looks at the back of his head, and takes a deep breath. They are broken up, aren't they? Are they? They had a row, in any case, and Ginny isn't really interested in mending their relationship.

She hurries past him, up to the girl's dormitory, before he can start a conversation. She feels all worked up. It's the middle of the day and the dorms are empty. She should be in Transfiguration. What was she thinking?

Ginny paces around the small room twice, then collapses onto her bed. She thinks of Harry. He's the reason she followed Malfoy in the first place – Harry was so sure that he was up to something.

She thought maybe she'd catch Malfoy in the act, in some illicit act. But that was stupid. Whatever he'd been doing, it was all finished by the time he ran into her. At least he has detention as well, and if nothing else, she's made Malfoy's life a bit more unpleasant. Serves him right for being an evil prat.

Ginny closes her eyes. She has Quidditch practice in an hour. It will be nice to fly around the pitch, to sweat out some of her frustration. To throw some Quaffles hard against the icy wind.

Harry's face swims into her mind. Harry the captain, the Boy Who Lived. Harry and his bright green eyes, and his mess of black hair, and his crooked grin. Harry used to be in her head _always_.

In her second year, Harry Potter consumed Ginny, burned through all of her thoughts. Until her diary began to speak to her. That was a bad year, obviously. She cares about Harry now, as a good friend, as an ally, but the intensity she felt for him has died down, burnt itself out after the debacle with Tom Riddle's diary.

But this year something has changed. Harry is noticing her. All of a sudden, now that she's moved on, Harry is looking at _her_. She sees the way he stares at her in the hallways, in the common room. At Slughorn's little gatherings. He's nervous, and she feels his nervousness, and she feels his gaze flitting away when she turns to catch his eye.

The first time she ever saw him, he was so ruffled and funny-looking with his lopsided glasses and his black hair sticking out in all directions. He was famous, but he didn't even know it, didn't understand anything about the Wizarding world. He was so handsome, too. Funny-looking, but handsome. How was that possible? Ginny can still see the eleven-year-old Harry in her mind.

But it's been so many years, and so much has happened since then. That initial childish obsession has been diluted and strained, and it's all but gone.

Lying on the bed with the wind rattling the shutters, Ginny slips a little towards sleep. She thinks unexpectedly of Malfoy's cool grip on her wrist. Malfoy smelled like sweat and leather and expensive cologne.

Ginny's never been so close to him, to somebody like him. The Weasleys didn't run in the same circles as the old, wealthy Wizarding families. Malfoy is richer than half the student body combined, and he knows it. He's an arrogant wanker, always perfectly put together, always sneering down on people like her. Today, though, his green Slytherin tie was askew, and he was wearing a crumpled button-down shirt beneath his Hogwarts' robes. Why had he been crying? What did he care about so much that he would cry?

Probably himself.


	2. Chapter 2: Detention in the Dungeons

**Chapter 2: Detention in the Dungeons**

 _Draco_

Why was that Weasley girl following him?

Draco frets with the silver clasps on his cloak, and pulls it tighter around his shoulders. Potter must suspect something. Draco scowls. Perfect Potter, always saving the day.

Not this time.

He got him good on the train, bloodied his nose. Too bad somebody found him sooner rather than later, otherwise he would have gone all the way back to King's Cross that night.c

Anyway, Draco has bigger things to think about now, and even if Potter does suspect something, he hasn't got any proof. There's nothing to link Draco to the incident with Katie Bell.

He's standing on the third-floor balcony in the fading twilight, his breath steaming in the darkness. The Slytherin common room was stuffy and crowded. He needed some air. These days, it's getting harder to listen to his housemates banter about homework and teacher favoritism, speculate about Quidditch or who's shagged whom in the prefect bathroom. All these things that have made up the last six years of his student life have become laughably pale and inconsequential.

He looks down onto the grounds below. The last of the snow is melting into murky puddles, and there is a heavy, cold mist hanging over the castle. There is no moon tonight; the sky is obscured by dark grey clouds. His sleeve is rolled up, and Draco lights the tip of his wand to see the Dark Mark on his pale forearm. He can feel it sometimes. Like it's alive, separate from his body. The serpent and skull shine against his white skin.

Draco pulls down his sleeve and buttons the cuff. He's shivering. He turns around and walks back into the warm glow of the castle.

He has detention in the dungeons, but he makes a detour to the seventh floor. There are students lingering along the hallway, so he doesn't stop. Instead, he walks by the entrance to the Room of Requirement, his pulse quickening. It's a bare wall, the weathered stone no different from its surroundings, yet it may as well glow like a beacon as he walks past. The Vanishing Cabinet within is still broken. He needs to fix it. He's running out of time.

His heart is beating too fast, and he takes a deep breath to calm down, clenching and unclenching his fists. Draco hurries past the stretch of wall. He pushes the cabinet out of his mind and continues down to the dungeons for detention with Filch.

Snape offered to take over Draco's detention, but he sidestepped the Potion Master's attempts. He doesn't want to spend the evening dodging questions. Snape is dying to know his plan, probably to take the credit for himself. Draco won't allow it. This is _his_ work, his idea. Nobody can figure out how to get the best of Dumbledore, how to get past Hogwarts' defensive spells, but he's figured it out.

Draco will fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes. The Dark Lord _chose_ him, honoured him - whatever they all think. He knows the others say he's too young, too weak, but he'll show them all, and he'll bring the Malfoy name back into a place of honour. _He_ will do it, not Snape.

The Weasley girl is already there at the bottom of the staircase, and so is Filch. "Come on," says the squib when he catches sight of Draco. "Come on, follow me."

They're in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room where Filch accosted them yesterday, where Weasley caught him unaware and disarmed him. She started this whole detention mess. As if he's got nothing better to do than clear the dungeons of dugbogs.

Draco's brows knit in frustration. Why was she following him? He needs to find out what Potter knows.

They trail Filch deeper into the dungeons, into the labyrinths where students rarely go. There are a few unused rooms here, some dusty portraits on the walls, and Merlin knows what else breathing in the darkness. Maybe this is where the house elves live, or where all their laundry goes. Hogwarts is huge, and it seems to continue downwards just as much as it towers upwards.

Draco knows that somewhere down here there's a tunnel out of the castle leading out to the lake where the merpeople live. Sometimes the lake swells and floods, and the dungeons get humid, and the air in the Slytherin common room gets muggy - usually in the springtime during heavy rains. He's heard that if you follow the branching corridors deep enough, you'll find an underground entrance through the lake.

Nobody comes down here, though, so far beneath the school, except for couples looking for some privacy. It's dank and cold down here, and Draco wraps his cloak around him to keep warm. Weasley does the same. Her hair shines in the torchlight. She's walking ahead of him, behind Filch. Enchanted torches light their way, but the lamps get fewer and farther between as they continue downwards, until the sound of rushing water and the a terrible wafting smell of old fish overwhelms them.

"Ugh!" Draco holds his nose. "What's that smell? It's disgusting."

Weasley doesn't say anything, but wrinkles her nose.

Filch stops in a poorly-lit corridor reeking of fish. Along the stone walls, Draco can see the dead dugbogs all piled up against the walls where flood waters brought them the previous spring, then abandoned them as the water receded.

"You two'll clean these up. Zap them gone," Filch says. "These corridors will be flooding again in a few weeks, and I want these old rotting things cleared away before then. Once it's all done, I'll come down to check your work. Should take you a few hours." His face is streaked grey and orange in the dark, and he is giddy with the prospect of giving them this useless, tedious task.

"What's the point, though, of cleaning up dead dugbogs?" asks Weasley before Draco can do it. "Nobody goes down here anyway."

"Don't you go questioning me, girl. I have my reasons," says Filch in a nasty voice. "You'll clean them good and well. I'll see to you in a few hours, and if you've done your job, you can go to sleep." Filch grins, "And if you've not, you'll just have to sleep down here with the dugbogs." With that, he turns around and shuffles back the way he came, and his footsteps soon fade into the shadows.

The stench of old fish is revolting.

Draco is still holding nose. "This is absurd," he says.

The Weasley girl frowns. She has freckles all along the bridge of her nose, on her cheeks, even on her forehead. Draco has never seen anyone with so many freckles.

Her eyes narrow as she surveys the dugbogs. "We'll need a spell to get rid of them," she mutters to herself.

Draco doesn't say anything, studying her with a frown. He saw her yesterday at Quidditch practice. He was looking down on the Quidditch pitch from one of the terraces, thinking about the cabinet, but also needing a distraction. He watched Potter and the Gryffindor team doing their drills. Weasley – her brother – made an absolute arse of himself. But she wasn't bad. What was her name? Ginny?

"Malfoy," she says again. "Are you deaf? I said we need a spell to get rid of all these dugbogs. We need to hurry up before I hurl."

"Don't order me around," Draco sneers. "Do it yourself." He pauses for a second before continuing: "Tell me, Weasley, do you like being a blood traitor?" He decides to rile her up. It's her fault they're down here, and the Weasleys all flare up so easily. He wonders if her whole face will flush bright red just like the rest of her kin. "You know Weasley, your kind will be imprisoned soon enough, when the Dark Lord gains back his full power."

But she barely reacts. "Just shut up," she says quietly, not taking the bait. She holds up her wand, thinking.

He pulls out his own wand where she can see it. "I won't be caught off-guard again. Don't try anything."

She ignores him. _"Expulso!"_ she yells, and a dugbog explodes into a splatter on the stone floor.

Draco retches. The smell is awful. "Ugh…Weasley. I can't breathe."

"Do you know a better spell, Malfoy? Because I don't plan on spending my night down here."

Draco wracks his brain. He doesn't know a better spell. _"Expulso!"_ he shouts, and another dugbog explodes. The smell is unbearable. Draco raises his wand again. _"Seplasium!"_ he shouts, and a mild flowery scent fills the corridor; the stench still hovers beneath the perfume, but he's taken the edge off.

Weasley throws him an approving look. "I'll burst them, you wash them away," she suggests.

"I don't take orders from peasants," he smirks.

Weasley glares at him. "Oh, will you shut it already! I'm not doing this alone, Malfoy, and I don't want to spend more time down here with you than absolutely necessary."

"Fine," says Draco. "We'll do it your way. You're obviously experienced in cleaning up disgusting messes, what with all the Weasleys living in squalor, so I will defer to your judgment." He smirks again, and before she can retort, sprays the slimy mess with a stream of water from his wand.

They make their way through the dead creatures rotting alongside the dungeon walls. The trail of them seems never-ending.

Draco feels drained. The lateness of the hour is pressing in on him. He didn't sleep well last night. Hell, he can't remember the last time he slept well. He's always trying to sneak away to fix those damn cabinets.

He looks up to see that Weasley has walked ahead of him down the narrow corridor. "Why were you following me?" he calls after her. His voice sounds too-loud in the darkness after the long silence. He hadn't planned to interrogate her like this, but what better time to get information than here in the dungeons with nobody to listen in, nobody to protect her.

"I wasn't following you," she shouts back, annoyed, but she stops walking and waits for him to catch up.

"Look Weasley, we both know you're lying. I spotted you right away. You followed me down three floors. I even heard you cast a _Muffiato_ spell. So don't play games." He stares her down, his lip curled, his expression as menacing as possible. "Just tell me what you were doing, all right Weasley?"

She looks at him, thinking.

"Did Potter send you?" he presses. "Because he's got no business, and I will tell …" Draco's voice falters. Normally, he would say _I will tell my father about this_ or _I will tell the Headmaster_ , but both options cause something like panic to rise in his chest.

Ginny frowns at him. "Were you actually crying?"

Draco jerks back and scoffs. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he hopes she doesn't notice. "Is that what you think?" he exhales. He hates the way she asked, not like she was mocking him, but with a hint of pity in her voice. "I wasn't…fucking _crying_ Weasley." He tries to laugh, to shrug her off.

She stares right back at him, refusing to break eye contact. Her red hair is fizzing in the damp air, and her eyes are wide-open brown, full of curiosity. "I know you're up to something," she insists. "I'll find out. Harry'll find out. It's only a matter of time, Malfoy."

"There's nothing to find out." He pushes past her into the corridor. The ceiling is lower here, and the torches along the walls are spread farther apart so that he can barely see into the darkness ahead. Draco shoots one exploding spell after another. It feels good – to hear the fishy beasts incinerate. He hurries forward, taking long strides.

But she's right behind him. He can hear her footsteps an inch away.

"What were you doing yesterday when you ran into me?" she demands. "I know you were up to something."

"I'm not up to anything." He forces his mouth into a sneer. "Is that why we're here? Is that why we have detention?" He leans in, bringing his face close to hers again. "I'm not up to anything, Weasley, but the Dark Lord _is_ rising. He's getting more powerful every day. Maybe that's what you should be worried about. You may not be a Mudblood, Weasley, but you're even worse. You're a disgrace to magic. You know that, don't you?"

He's finally gotten to her. He can tell by the way her whole body tenses up, her breath quickening in anger. Her face might be bright Weasley red, but it's gotten too dark to see properly. She is scowling though, and she looks like she might hex him, so he grabs her wrist again. That seemed to throw her off yesterday.

She doesn't shake him off, but stares resolutely into his eyes. "Maybe you won't admit it, but _I_ know you're up to something Malfoy, and I'm not too worried. You're not smart enough to accomplish anything worth worrying over. You can't even throw a proper hex."

The blood rushes back to his face. Draco grips his wand, but she's already holding her own wand against his chest.

He turns around instead and storms down the corridor.

The stupid bint. She should keep her filthy Muggle-loving mouth shut.

But he can't help the spiral of self-doubt from rising like bile, choking him with panic. _What if she's right, though? What if you're just not good enough? You can't fix the cabinets. It won't work. It's not working. You'll be killed._

"Malfoy, wait! Stop!"

He doesn't listen, pounding down the corridor, forgetting the dugbogs altogether, needing to get away.

Weasley's voice echoes behind him, "Malfoy, you've got to stop with the water. It's too much," she calls, her splashing footsteps coming closer.

He slows down, catching his breath. Draco realizes that his shoes are wet, and the water is ankle-deep and rising. "It's not me," he says. "I stopped washing away the dugbogs ages ago. It must be coming from the lake." The fishy, perfumed odour has been diluted with the cold smell of lake water. "We must have gone too far down."

Her sloshing footsteps are nearby. "We need to go back," she says, approaching him.

He realizes that he can hear Weasley, but he can barely make out her silhouette beside him. The torches that lined the walls ended several feet ago.

 _"_ _Lumos,"_ he says.

He sees her face close to his, bluey-orange in the wand-light. "Are you mad?" she shouts above the rush of water. The noisy, shallow current is echoing off the stone walls. "You almost broke into a run back there. I barely caught up with you."

"I wasn't crying," he says, needing suddenly to explain. "I don't know what you think you saw, but I was tired and in a hurry, and that's all. Do you understand?"

Weasley stares at him in disbelief. "What's going on, Malfoy?" Her voice is strange. It's grown somehow softer.

And she is very pretty.

The thought slips in quietly through a barrier in his brain, but now that it's through, it unfurls inside his head and he cannot quite push it back out.

She's been dating Dean Thomas, but everyone knows she'll end up with Potter eventually. She's his best friend's sister, and she's a shameless blood traitor. They're perfect for each other. They're both eager to bow-down to the stupidest Muggles and lowliest creatures at the expense of the Wizarding world.

But Draco can't deny she's pretty. When she walks down the hallways, you'd have to be blind not to notice.


	3. Chapter 3: Dark and Light

**Chapter 3: Dark and Light**

 _Ginny_

Earlier that evening, when Malfoy came down to the dungeons, he'd looked more like his usual self. His pointed face was full of smug malice, and his eyes were dry.

But he's losing it now.

Her questions are unsettling him, she can tell. He's running into the lake, for Merlin's sake! Her instincts yesterday were spot on: there's something big going on with Malfoy. She can barely see his face in the faint wand-light, but she can feel the turmoil and panic emanating from his body.

There's a sudden surge of water, and they both lose their footing. Ginny gasps with the shock of the snow-melt. She reaches in the darkness and grabs hold of his arm. He hauls her up quickly.

"Shit." Draco stutters, teeth clanking. "Gotta turn around."

They are both sopping wet, their cloaks heavy, sodden wool dragging them down. Wands alight, they fight the current back the way they had come.

But in the darkness, the way back isn't clear. The fresh surge in the current has brought the water far past their ankles.

"I think we're lost," she stammers. "We didn't come this way. There must have been another turn-off somewhere." When he doesn't answer, she pushes him. "Come on, Malfoy. Your common room is in the dungeons. Shouldn't you know where you are?"

"I've never been down here in my life, Weasley. Why would I know where we are?" He's sneering at her again, but he's too cold to inject his usual spite into it. Instead, his voice is full of anxiety.

They hold their wands high for the small light they provide, and hold on to each other as they wade through the black water.

They must be climbing because the water begins to recede, the current flowing in the opposite direction. Ginny takes a step, and her sopping shoes hit dry ground. Malfoy releases his hold on her cloak.

Ginny casts a quick drying spell and feels the heat coming off her robes, as if she's just stood in front of a raging bonfire. "Here, Malfoy," she says, and she casts the spell on him.

He stops shivering. His silvery-blond hair dries and falls into his eyes. He brushes it back impatiently. "We could have drowned back there. Filch should be sacked for this." Malfoy looks genuinely shaken. "If I told my father about…" He seems to remember where his father is, and he falls into a despondent silence.

Ginny bites back a withering comment about Lucius Malfoy. There's no use fighting now, and she has to agree with him anyway; Filch crossed a line. They may be dry, but they aren't out of the dungeons yet. They could be trapped in this labyrinth of dark hallways for hours. "Are you sure you don't know the way back?" she says finally.

"No more than you, Weasley. Just because I'm in Slytherin, doesn't mean I've got the whole bloody dungeon memorized." He sounds as exhausted as she feels. He leans against the wall.

On impulse, Ginny walks up to him. He's a head taller than her. In the wandlight, his hair is pale gold, and there are shadows on his face, heavy shadows beneath his grey eyes.

She reaches out and takes him by the wrist. His skin is cool in her palm, but her own hand is sweaty. She can hear his shallow breaths, and her own quick, nervous breathing. "Harry thinks you've joined the Death Eaters," she says carefully.

Malfoy's arm jerks in her grasp, but doesn't pull away.

"We all think he's mad, though. You're only sixteen, aren't you? You're not even of age to perform magic outside of school." She unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve and pulls it back. He doesn't say anything, doesn't look at her. Ginny holds her wand in one hand, and runs her fingers over the Dark Mark with the other. Her heart is beating in her ears.

She can feel his other arm slipping around her waist, drawing her into him. The serpent and skull are burned black against his skin. She traces them with shaking fingers. "I didn't really believe it. Say something," she whispers. "Malfoy. Say something…"

"You can't tell anyone." His voice sounds hoarse in her ear, his breath a warm puff against her cheek. "They'll throw me out of Hogwarts. You know they will."

"And why shouldn't they? You're a Death Eater." Her heart beats louder at the words. _A Death Eater_. "You're part of something evil. Why shouldn't they throw you out?"

She drops his arm to back away, feeling nauseous, but his grip on her waist tightens to bring her closer.

"He'll kill me. If they kick me out of Hogwarts, I'm as good as dead. Father has already lost standing with the Dark Lord because of what happened last year. At the Ministry."

"It's what you all deserve anyway," Ginny says brashly, but something in his voice, his proximity, makes the words catch in her throat. She raises her head up to look at him, and his eyes are wide and frightened. "Isn't it, Malfoy? Don't you want us all dead and imprisoned? Isn't that what you all are fighting for – the Death Eaters, I mean?"

"I just want…" he stammers. "I just want my father back. I want to stay alive. Things are not like I thought they would be when the Dark Lord returned." He says this like it's the first time he's admitting it. "We were always waiting for this. The Dark Lord's return was supposed to be this glorious moment. " He's speaking into the darkness to a spot above her head, and his voice is barely audible. "What if I can't do it?" he whispers. "What if I don't want to do it anymore?"

"Maybe you're not as hateful as you'd like to be." She leans into him slightly, and this small action seems to propel Malfoy forward and into her. He draws her against him and kisses her so lightly that their lips barely touch. Her hands flutter away from his wrist to press against his chest. She can feel his heart racing beneath his robes. She could push him away now. She _should_ push him away, but her shaking hands won't cooperate.

Ginny opens her mouth a little and his tongue is warm on her lips, and then he is kissing her harder, kissing her like something he's been holding back has broken loose.

Ginny closes her eyes. She feels like there is a humming cord that runs from her lips to the pit of her stomach. He draws her into his arms, and she grasps his neck, his fine hair, to pull him forward. She's never felt this before, not like this. Not with Dean, or Michael; not this trembling deep in her gut.

Malfoy pulls back for air. He drops his chin on the top of her head, breathing heavily.

"What is this?" Ginny whispers. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know." He doesn't let her go. "I don't know anything. I feel…I need to…I need to get some sleep, maybe." He pushes her away, and he looks down at her. His eyes are full of fear. " _Weasley."_ He says it like it's only now hitting him who she is, what they've done. "Please. Please don't tell anyone."

She stares into his face, into his wide, pale eyes. "I have to. I have to tell." She pauses. "At the very least, I need to know what you're planning."

* * *

 __

 _Draco_

 _What am I planning? I'm planning to kill Albus Dumbledore_. His face feels flushed in the darkness. Father always said he was shit at controlling his emotions. Draco runs a shaking hand through his hair. He is losing his grip.

Why did he kiss her?

How could he let her see the Mark, after so many weeks and months of carefully hiding it?

It was a moment of weakness. It was like some secret, shameful part of himself had crawled out of the dark space in his head to take control while the rest of him watched in horror, unable to stop.

Draco feels overtired. His whole body is thrumming. His lungs are constricted with anxiety and he can't take a full breath. He pulls further away from her, and yanks down his sleeve. He does up the cuff carefully, avoiding her gaze.

"Come on," he says gruffly. "We need to find our way back. Once we find the torches, I think I can figure out the way out of here." He pushes ahead without looking back to see if Weasley is following.

They stumble along the dark tunnel until they reach a fork. Draco takes a left on instinct alone. They walk with their hands trailing along the stone wall, Weasley a few paces behind, Draco leading the way, taking turns as they come. They could be walking in circles for all he knows.

Eventually, she speaks up at his side. "I can't let this go. I need to know the truth, now more than ever. You know what the Death Eaters are planning, don't you? We need to tell Harry. You can help us, Draco."

The use of his given name makes his heart beat faster, and Draco quickens his step. If she tells Potter, he's finished. It's all finished. "If you tell Potter, I'll be gone. The Dark Lord doesn't ask questions. He…he's just merciless."

"I can't let you put anyone in danger. You sent the necklace to Katie Bell, didn't you?"

Draco stops, holding on to the wall. "I didn't mean for her to get hurt," he says tightly. "It was meant for someone else."

"Who was it meant for, then?" She takes his shoulders and turns him towards her.

He should shove her aside, but he hesitates. Draco doesn't know why he's so drawn to her. She's just another hyped-up Gryffindor. He'd denounced her a million times over. She comes from a rubbish family with rubbish ideals, and she cares nothing for the purity of her blood. She's pretty, sure, but there are plenty of pretty girls around.

"Let go of me, Weasley," he says, his voice cold. "I don't want you touching me. Forget what happened."

"You're too soft for all this. I can tell you that right now. You're too soft to be a Death Eater." Her eyes are fierce and even mocking, but there is warmth in them. "Come on, Draco. I want to help you. Let me help you."

"Just _forget it_ , all right?" he repeats, and he strides past her down the stone corridor.

She follows in silence, deep in thought. No doubt she is planning how to tell the Headmaster about his Dark Mark. Draco pushes the thought from his mind.

Finally, they wind around a bend and find the enchanted torches flickering in their alcoves. A few minutes later, Draco recognizes the paintings lining the walls, and he leads them back to through the corridors to the staircase. Filch is nowhere to be found, and the dungeons are deadly quiet. It's the middle of the night.

At the foot of the staircase, Ginny looks briefly into his eyes with an uneasy frown. She seems like she wants to say something, but hasn't decided what that should be.

What is there to say?

In the end, she just walks away, up the staircase, into the gloom.

Draco waits until she's completely lost in shadow, and then heads slowly to the Slytherin common room.

It's deserted. He makes his way to the boys' dormitories and collapses onto his bed without bothering to take off his robes. He shuts his eyes and lets the darkness close blissfully in on his mind.


	4. Chapter 4: The Next Morning

**Chapter 4: The Next Morning**

 _Draco_

The boys' dormitory is too quiet. The usual early-morning sounds of snoring and shuffling bodies are conspicuously lacking. Draco forces his eyes open and stares up at the green canopy of his bed. It must be late. Everyone is already down at breakfast. For a moment he stretches out on the bed and yawns, and he doesn't let the anxiety seep into his mind.

Not yet.

Eventually though, he has to acknowledge that he's worn his school robes to bed, and the events of the previous night flood his consciousness in stark detail.

"Oh, no," he says out loud to nobody. "Ugh…fuck me." His whole body wants to cringe with the awfulness of it.

He's wide awake now, so Draco gets out of bed. Ginny Weasley is going to tell everyone about the Dark Mark. Probably, she has already told Potter, and Potter has told Dumbledore, and it is only a matter of hours, or perhaps even minutes, before he is carted away to Azkaban. Father, Draco thinks, will not be pleased to see him. Not at all.

He takes a shower and puts on a fresh set of school robes, carefully slicking back his hair. When he makes his way to the common room, he feels more like himself.

Pansy is waiting for him on one of the leather sofas. She stands up when he approaches, taking his hand, looking at him with her eyebrows knitted in worry. "You didn't come down to breakfast," she says. "Are you okay, Draco? You've been looking ill lately."

"I'm fine, Pansy."

"Are you sure?" she steps close to him and squeezes his hand. "I've brought you some breakfast. You've missed it, I'm afraid, but we've still got a few minutes to get to Charms if we hurry."

Draco takes the two proffered scones wrapped in a cloth napkin, and brushes past her out of the common room. She follows him. "You got in so late last night," she says. "I wanted to wait for you, Draco, but it was quite late, wasn't it? What were you doing for Filch, anyway? He can't keep you up all night like that, can he?"

Draco wishes heartily for Pansy to vanish, but she remains at his side as they walk through the dungeons, up the staircase, all the way to the Charms classroom. Normally he likes having her fuss over him; today, she is just in the way of his frantic thoughts. His eyes dart in all directions, expecting someone to apprehend him at any moment. Pansy continues to buzz around him like an unswattable mosquito, but nobody else pays him any notice.

He slips into Charms and sits down at his empty desk while Professor Flitwick passes out large clay bowls.

Draco has already run through all the ways in which he could escape the castle: he could sneak out to Hogsmeade and take the train home, or he could feign illness and call his mother to take him back to Malfoy Manor.

Only the manor is currently occupied by Death Eaters, and as soon as he sets foot inside, he will be as good as dead anyway. Better take his chances with Azkaban.

Maybe he could hide out in the Forbidden Forest … and be mauled by beasts or angry centaurs.

Maybe he could leave everything behind and sneak away to Muggle London and hide among the faceless masses. But he'd be found in the end. Wizards more skilled than he have paid the price for deserting the Dark Lord. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to stay hidden, there is Mother's safety to think about.

Pansy is still ranting about Filch. Goyle is in the seat next to him; Crabbe failed his Charms OWL and is probably sleeping off his breakfast coma.

Draco looks tiredly at Professor Filtwick, who is holding up the clay bowls with an instructional air. The small-statured professor begins to drone on about the magical properties of these particular bowls, made from the dark red clay from the Andean tarns, and behind him Pansy continues to whisper at the back of his head.

Draco ignores them both and allows his thoughts to flit briefly to Ginny Weasley, whom he had actually _kissed_ last night. His hand goes unconsciously to his left wrist, clutching the Dark Mark beneath his sleeve. Why didn't he pull his arm away? How could he have let her just roll up his shirtsleeve and see the Mark? In the light of day, it seems like some unlikely nightmare.

He takes a bite of Pansy's scone, but it tastes like sand. Draco looks at Filtwick and watches his lips move as he gestures broadly, but his mind won't hold the professor's words.

After Charms, Pansy finally leaves him alone to go to Divination. He dodges past his classmates to find an empty corridor.

He needs some time before History of Magic to think. To figure out his next move. If he hasn't been apprehended, it means that Weasley has kept quiet. But for how long? Surely she's told Potter by now.

He'll need to get Grabbe and Goyle patrolling the entrance to the Secret Room again, and he'll need to work on fixing those cabinets. If he isn't going to run, then he's got to fulfill his mission, flee from Hogwarts, and return home to bask in the Dark Lord's praises. He still has plenty of Polyjuice potion left, hidden in his trunk up in the boys' dormitories. If he could just figure out the mechanism in those cabinets…

Draco's thoughts spiral to an abrupt end.

Ginny Weasley is waiting for him at the end of hallway. She is alone.

He thought seeing her now, in daylight, would be different, but his stomach clenches at the sight of her. "Weasley…" he drawls, and tries not to look at her too closely: not at her bright red hair, or the dusting of freckles along her bare arms, or her fierce dark eyes. She's just so fucking unavoidably _intense_. "What do you want, then?"

"I need to talk to you." She comes right up to him, and his heart is pounding in his chest and in his ears and inside his head. She is so close that he is sure she can hear it beating.

"So," he says, trying desperately to sound annoyed. "You've told Potter, I presume? You've told him about what you saw yesterday?"

She looks nervous herself. She takes his hand. He doesn't have the strength to pull it back. "I haven't told anyone, Malfoy." She's frowning. "Not yet, anyway."

Draco wishes she wasn't standing so close to him. Her face is inches away.

"Why did you kiss me, Draco?"

How can he answer that? "It doesn't matter. We both know it was nothing." Draco sees her hard gaze, and he thinks that probably if he kissed her again right now, it would discredit his earlier statement. Her lips are chapped. Draco licks his own lips. He takes a deep breath.

"Fine. Whatever, Malfoy." She seems impatient. "Never mind, that's not what I came here to ask you, anyway. I came to find out what the Death Eaters are planning."

"I can't tell you that."

"You're going to have to. Tell me everything you know, or I'll go to Dumbledore. I can't put everyone at risk just because I feel sorry for you, Malfoy."

Draco sneers again. "I don't need you to protect me, Weasley." As soon as he says it, he feels anxiety prickling at the back of his mind. He _does_ need her protection.

Ginny's whole face flushes with anger, and she drops his hand and crosses her arms. "Fine. I've tried to help you. I'm not responsible for your mistakes." She makes a move to shove past him, but he catches her by the shoulders.

"I want to tell you," he says, "but I can't." He takes a breath. "Ginny." He tries her name on his lips, to see how it sounds, to disassociate her from her mess of a family. "Ginny," he says again, "it's just not possible. I wish I could tell you everything."

Draco almost believes his own words. If he could somehow reverse time and erase the events of the past year, he would do it. If he could make it so the Dark Lord had never returned, and his father had never gone to Azkaban, and his only concerns were passing his NEWTs and taking the piss out of Harry Potter, then he would gladly go back to that life. But he can't. "I'm just trying to figure things out right now. Just give me a bit of time, okay Weasley?"

"Weasley?" she asks softly.

"Ginny," he amends.

"Just promise me. Promise me that you'll leave it. Whatever you're doing, promise me that you'll stop."

Draco looks at her in surprise. "You mean, you won't tell anyone? If I promise?"

"No. I won't."

He knows then that she doesn't want to get him thrown out. Maybe she cares about him. She did kiss him back, after all. But surely she can't expect him to defy the Dark Lord, to risk his own life and the life of his family because she's asked him too.

Maybe she doesn't need to believe him; maybe she just needs to hear him say that he's not up to anything too bad so that her conscience can rest easy.

His hand moves from her shoulder to her back, drawing her into him. She smells like shampoo and wind. He lowers his head and kisses her slowly. It feels good, and his whole body is stirring, and suddenly he can't get enough of her. When he's kissing her like this, his mind is a blank slate, his anxiety momentarily muffled, and there is only this rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.

His hands are in her hair now, and his lips are on her neck. And he _wants_ her. He wants this so much. Any minute now, someone might walk past this stretch of hallways and see them, but he can't make himself stop.

She's gripping him too, crushing him against her. "Promise me," she whispers against his lips.

"I promise," he says. She pulls away and looks into his eyes. "I promise," he says again, weakly. She must know that he is lying.

"Maybe we should tell Dumbledore," she says. "Maybe he can help you. He can protect you."

Draco takes a shaky breath and finally lets go of her. She doesn't understand. Of course she doesn't understand. She is on the wrong side of the war.

Dumbledore is his _enemy_. His death is the only thing that can truly protect him. Not only protect him – his death would elevate him in the Dark Lord's eyes, would exceed all of their expectations. "Don't tell Dumbledore," he says. "Not yet. Give me time."

He feels a rush of guilt, but she is already agreeing. "Fine. I won't tell." She frowns at him, her eyes hardening again. "For now."

* * *

 _Ginny_

Something is definitely wrong with her.

She had a nice boyfriend. Dean is a nice bloke. He's handsome and easygoing and a gentleman. He's been grating on her nerves lately, but nothing like Draco Malfoy. Malfoy gets on _everybody's_ nerves.

Maybe something's broken inside of her. Maybe when she spilled herself into Tom Riddle's diary, something dark and hateful took up residence in her heart, and now she can't like nice boys like Dean (like _Harry_ ). Instead she's attracted to awful, bigoted jerks like Draco Malfoy.

She can picture him perfectly when he closes her eyes. His fine hair, his wet, pale lips, that expensive, leathery smell that clings to his robes. The thought of kissing him turns her on, makes her imagine all sorts of things that are plain _wrong_. When he pulls her into him, and his arms are firm around her, she just can't feel enough of his body against hers.

She could lie to herself, but the fact that he's a Malfoy, that he's an incorrigible jerk obsessed with blood status that can't seem to keep her hands off her - it's part of the attraction. The fact that he's got one foot in evil, yet he's incapable of truly harming others, incapable of even fully seeing the good in himself.

Ginny groans and opens her eyes.

It's been three days since they last spoke in the hallway, since he promised to stop whatever he's been doing. Should she believe him? Probably not. She knows she needs to tell Dumbledore. But then she thinks of Draco's wide, grey eyes. His long eyelashes. He has the eyelashes of a girl. Ginny smiles to herself.

"What's so funny?" Concepta asks. Ginny remembers she's in the library, allegedly studying for her OWLs. Her friend Concepta is standing over her table with a fresh set of books. "It can't be that copy of _Magical Theory_ you're reading, because that's the driest book I've ever read. Except for maybe _Hogwarts: A History_."

Ginny closes the big tome in a cloud of dust. "I need a break, Concepta. I think it's dinnertime anyway."

In the Great Hall, she slides into a seat across from Hermione and fills her plate with mashed potatoes and sausage. She pulls the loaded plate back, but looking at all that food, can't seem to find her appetite.

"Are you okay, Ginny?" asks Hermione.

"I'm just tired. I'm worried about OWLs. You know how it is."

Hermione nods enthusiastically. "In my fifth year, I felt like I was going to forget something no matter how much I studied. Oh, it was so stressful. It'll be okay, Ginny. It feels like the most important thing in the world right now, but believe me, it's really just a set of exams." Hermione laughs. "I mean, not _just_ exams, but you understand what I'm saying. Don't stress yourself out like I did. Oh, hello Harry."

Harry sits down next to Hermione and starts piling up his plate. He looks tired and distracted, but that's the typical Harry look, especially towards the end of term. It seems like things are always coming to a point around this time of year.

Harry's eyes flit nervously up and over Ginny. She's noticed these looks before – he can't seem to settle his gaze anywhere in her vicinity, as if looking at her too long will give something away.

Across the room, from the Slytherin table, she senses the same flitting gaze from Draco Malfoy. His eyes fall on her, then dart away. Both are trying not to look directly at her. Dean is the only one who has no problem looking at Ginny. He stares at her with a deep frown. Ginny never did break it off with him officially, and now it's probably too late to have a civil conversation about it.

Ginny decides to focus on her food, and after the first few bites, she realizes she is ravenous. She pours on more gravy and grabs a biscuit from a heap. She cannot let all of this Malfoy stuff get to her. There's Quidditch practice tomorrow, and she _does_ have OWLs to study for. And if something does happen in the next few months, she won't be much use to Harry if she's weak from hunger and constant worry.

"You've just got to stop obsessing about Malfoy!"

Ginny's eyes shoot up, but Hermione is talking to Harry.

"Come on, Harry. You've already told Dumbledore everything you know, and he doesn't seem worried."

"I know, Hermione."

"And you're meant to be focusing on Slughorn, where we've made zero progress by the way."

"I _know_ , Hermione. I'm trying. I can't just force him to talk to me, can I? We've already been through this."

"What exactly did you tell Dumbledore about Malfoy?" Ginny asks.

"That he's a bloody Death Eater," says Ron. Her brother has squeezed in between Harry and Hermione and has already shoved an entire sausage in his mouth. "Harry told him about the conversation he overheard between Malfoy and Snape, but he still trusts Snape. He won't budge on that."

"And if Dumbledore trusts Snape, then so should we," says Hermione.

"Hermione's right," says Ron. Ginny smiles. It's nice seeing the two of them back on good terms after the whole Lavender debacle. It's also nice not seeing Lavender and Ron sucking face all over the Gryffindor common room.

Ron impales another sausage on his fork and points it at Harry. "I mean, come on Harry. I can't see Malfoy being a Death Eater. He's just… _Malfoy_. He's all talk."

Harry looks annoyed. "He's been going into the Room of Requirement more than ever. He's definitely up to something."

Ginny stands up abruptly. She doesn't want to talk about Malfoy, and she doesn't want to _not_ talk about the Dark Mark burned into his forearm. "I have to meet some friends," she says. "See you guys."

"Oh okay. Bye, Ginny." Hermione waves. Ron ignores her, and Harry mumbles something with his eyes cast downward.

Ginny walks out of the Great Hall. Grey eyes catch hers momentarily, and then dart away.


	5. Chapter 5: The Wrong Side

**Chapter 5: The Wrong Side**

 _Ginny_

Maybe Dumbledore already knows. Maybe telling him what she saw in the dungeons would change nothing. Certainly, Snape must know about the Dark Mark if he's truly in the inner circle, and Hermione is right in saying that Dumbledore trusts Snape. If Snape knows, then Dumbledore must know. So there is nothing to be anxious about. Whatever Draco is planning is probably too insignificant to matter.

Ginny closes her eyes. She can only justify her actions (or her _inaction_ ) for so long.

Most students are still in the Great Hall eating dinner, and the corridors are quiet. Ginny turns away from the winding staircase that leads up to the Gryffindor tower, deciding on a whim to go outside instead. The castle feels stuffy, and dense sunlight from the setting sun is flowing seductively through the high windows.

It's breezy outside. Ginny makes her way down a well-worn dirt path to the lake.

She knows she should tell Harry what she saw.

She should have already told Harry.

But there is everything else. Everything she can't say to Harry.

Suddenly, she is thinking about kissing Draco again, and she feels the familiar dizzying rush. It's just a crush. Some kind of ridiculous, dysfunctional crush.

Melting ice is floating on the water in patches, with the edges already thawed and marshy-looking. The ground is spongy underfoot.

Ginny hears footsteps behind her. She turns around to see a group of young Hufflepuff girls laughing together. She keeps walking, increasing her pace. It feels good to move, to breathe the cold air and just get out of her head for a moment.

She hears footsteps again. She turns around, and this time, it's him. "What do you want?" she calls.

He jogs up to her. He glances quickly and nervously at the Hufflepuff girls, but they are engrossed in their own conversation, walking in the opposite direction.

Ginny frowns. Draco would be embarrassed to be caught running after her like this. Of course he would. Whatever kissing they did in the dark crannies of the castle, he would probably die before he'd let any one of his Slytherin friends see him touch her. A blood traitor, he called her.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she says again.

"Where are you going?" he asks. He falls into step with her.

"Nowhere."

"Yeah, me too." He smiles at her sideways.

"Aren't you worried that someone will see us?" Ginny asks.

"There's nobody here," says Draco. He shoves his hands in his pockets and they walk down the bending dirt path around the contour of the lake until the Hufflepuff girls are far behind them.

"And what if there were?" asks Ginny. "What if there were people around? You wouldn't be caught dead talking to me like this, walking beside me like we're...some kind of friends," she finishes lamely.

"Oh, and you would be ok with that, would you?" he scoffs. "If you saw Potter coming this way, you'd probably jump into the lake, never mind the hypothermia."

He was right. If Harry could see her now…Merlin, that would be a disaster. "So maybe that means we're not meant to be here together. If we can't even fess up to having a _conversation_ in front of our friends, then it must be pretty bad."

"You're probably right, Weasley." Draco nudges her softly with his shoulder. "So why did you come out here? Really? You left the Great Hall in a hurry."

"I just needed some air, I guess. It's too stuffy in the castle." She looks at him. He is tall and lanky, and he looks good in his green and silver robes. His pale cheeks have turned patchy red in the breeze, and his grey eyes are kind, not narrowed in anger. "Why did _you_ come out here, Malfoy? And why do you keep looking at me in the Great Hall? I can see you, you know."

"How can I _not_ look at you?" he says, exasperated. Ginny raises an eyebrow. "No, I mean…I didn't mean…" His cheeks flush brighter. She watches the flush creep up the back of his neck, out from the collar of shirt, and she tries to contain her smile.

He avoids her eyes and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. "I mean, the _reason_ I'm looking at you is because I'm obviously on edge. You know what you saw in the dungeons. You hold all the cards, Weasley. Every morning I wake up, and I wonder if this will be the day I get carted off to Azkaban."

"I told you I'd give you time," says Ginny. "I said I wouldn't go to Dumbledore straight away, and I haven't. But you promised you would stop doing whatever it is Lord Voldemort has ordered you to do."

He winces at the name, but Ginny says it brashly. To say anything else would be to cower in the face of evil, to give in to fear. Harry taught her that. She gives him a hard, probing look. "And you haven't stopped, have you Malfoy?"

"I have," he insists. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"I know you're still up to something," Ginny hisses, losing her temper. "You're just a liar, aren't you? Of course you are, what am I saying? You've got no morals. You're a Death Eater!"

"Keep your voice down." He looks panicked.

They walk a little way in silence.

They are almost around the bend of the large lake, heading back towards the castle. The sun is low and spread thin across the clouds, and the air is wet and cold. It smells like half-bloomed flowers and new, windblown grass.

"I don't know what you've heard, Weasley, but it's not true. Anyway, how would you know what I'm doing or not doing? It's not like you can see me every minute of every day."

 _No,_ thinks Ginny, _but Harry can_.

She can't tell him that, though. Just as Ginny can't tell Harry about Draco's Dark Mark, she wouldn't dare talk to Draco about the Marauder's Map, or Harry's meetings with Dumbledore, or anything associated with the Order. _He's on the wrong side_ , she reminds herself. _If this were a story, he'd be one of the bad guys._ And she kissed him. And she liked it. And even now she can imagine touching him again. "Who else has seen the Mark?" Ginny asks.

He thinks for a minute before answering. "Nobody at Hogwarts."

"Not even Pansy?"

He looks confused. "Why would Pansy have seen it?"

"She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Draco looks at her sideways. "You're jealous of Pansy?"

"Don't sounds so pleased, Malfoy."

"I am pleased."

"I'm not jealous," Ginny says. "I just assumed, you know, that she's seen you without, I don't know, without your shirt on." Now she feels embarrassed.

Draco looks amused. "Oh, well, she has actually. I mean, so have loads of people. I live in a dormitory with a bunch of blokes, don't I?"

"So…"

"I use a concealment charm. I also try to keep it hidden, obviously, but if I know that someone might see or if I have to get changed for Quidditch practice or something, I use the charm." He pauses. "It's difficult to maintain, though. It's not like hiding a birthmark, or even a regular tattoo." Draco looks pained. "It's like it doesn't _like_ being hidden; like it knows what I'm doing and it fights my magic."

"Oh," Ginny breathes. "That's awful." She can't help herself. "How could you let him do that to you? To put that piece of himself on your _flesh_?"

He's stopped walking and he's looking at her like he's also just realizing that she's on the wrong team, that they don't have any single shared thing between them. "It's an honour," he says softly, but defiantly. "Do you know how many students at Hogwarts have the Mark? Nobody else."

"Well, of course not."

"I was chosen. He chose me because I am worthy."

"Worthy of what? Of destroying people's lives? Of bringing back darkness and despair to the Wizarding world?"

"It's not like that." He looks annoyed. "I am a pureblood wizard. I come from a long line of powerful witches and wizards, of those loyal to magic. Loyal to _this_ world. The Muggles are weak and stupid, and given half a chance, they would destroy us. You know they would. It's why we've got the Statute of Secrecy, isn't it? Well, some wizards feel it's not fair for us to hide, to grovel at those who are weaker. We are powerful enough to destroy them, yet we've got to hide and slink around as if we've got something to be ashamed of."

"Spoken like a true Death Eater," says Ginny. "What if I were a Muggle, or Muggle-born? Would you truss me up like an animal, like your lot did at the Triwizard Tournament?"

"You're not a Mudblood."

"Don't you dare use that word." It's twilight and the air around them is all shades of blue and grey. Ginny has drawn her wand. His hand is inside his robes, but he's too slow once again. "You're disgusting, Malfoy. I don't know what came over me before. Temporary insanity, maybe."

"You're being stupid," he hisses. There's a desperation to his tone. "You're just brainwashed by Potter and Dumbledore and your Muggle-loving father."

Ginny feels something hot and raw bubbling inside her. What is she doing out here, in the dark, with this awful person. He may not be sneering and sarcastic, but he is still every bit as terrible as he's always been.

"Everyone knows Arthur Weasley is mad about Muggles," Draco hisses. "He's always fiddling with their rubbish. He's a laughing stock at the ministry."

Ginny feels angry enough to cry, or to scream into the darkness. "Get away from me, Malfoy. Don't come near me again." She sucks in a shaky breath, jabbing her wand at his chest. "If you speak to me again, I will hex you. I promise you that."

She could barely see his face gleaming in the moonlight. His expression is unreadable. Ginny shoves him away with her wand arm, and he takes a staggering step backwards. Then, she turns around and runs the rest of the way down the dirt path, all the way back to the castle doors. She doesn't look back, and she doesn't hear his footsteps. It's after curfew, and she's supposed to be back in the common room.

* * *

 _Draco_

Pansy breaks away from her conversation with Millicent Bulstrode and hurries towards Draco as soon as he walks into the Slytherin common room.

"Oh, there you are, Draco. I was just working on our Potions essay with Millicent. Have you done it yet? Can you help us? You're so good at Potions." She beams at him. When he doesn't immediately respond, she keeps talking. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to after dinner. Crabbe nicked a pet toad from one of the second years and tossed it back and forth with Goyle. It was a riot until that half-breed centaur came down from the Astronomy Tower and took points from Slytherin. My mum says Dumbledore's gone senile, letting _beasts_ teach classes inside the castle, putting everyone's safety at risk…" Her voice tapers off. "You look like you've been outside. Your hair is all blown about." She smiles at him, nervously this time. She brushes her own short black hair behind one ear.

"Yeah, I was outside." Draco says. He walks past Pansy and shoos a couple of first years off his favourite armchair. He sits down and crosses his arms, staring straight ahead, unsure if the unhappy feeling pressing on his chest is rooted in anger or anxiety.

His heart is still pounding from the argument. He wants to call Weasley back, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she sees through her Potter-induced delusions and actually hears him out.

"It must be pitch black outside. You were out there after hours? You're not afraid of getting caught?" Pansy perches on the armrest next to him, still clutching her Potions scroll. She sounds impressed.

Traditionally, this is the part in the conversation where Draco says he isn't afraid of getting caught, that he isn't afraid of breaking Dumbledore's rules because his father can get him out of any jam. This year, however, with Father locked away in Azkaban, Draco has had to allude to forces even greater than Lucius Malfoy, and to concerns more weighty than the minutia of school life.

"I've got bigger things to care about than some stupid curfew," he tells Pansy. "You know, none of this matters in the real world – house points and curfews and all that." Pansy looks impressed, and Draco feels a tiny bit better. "Now that the Dark Lord has returned, it is only a matter of time before those of us who remained loyal are rewarded, and those who defied him are punished."

Pansy looks even more impressed, but Draco has an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He sounds just like Father. How many times has Lucius Malfoy uttered those exact words? Now he is in Azkaban, and Draco is tasked with an impossible mission with his life on the line. That hardly seems like a reward.

Pansy reaches up to stroke his hair back into place, her fingers brushing his temple. "Don't worry, Draco," she says softly, correctly interpreting the troubled look in his eyes. "Your father will be out of Azkaban soon enough. I bet it's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord has control of Azkaban and the Ministry, and soon all of the stupid Mudbloods will be kicked out of Hogwarts."

"Show me your Potions essay," he tells her, reaching up to take her hand. "We can work on it together." In truth, he hasn't started his own essay. Snape would probably give him some leeway, but Draco doesn't want to give the Potions Master any excuse to take him aside and question him about the state of the Dark Lord's assignment.

Snape was livid after Ron Weasley drank the poisoned wine that Draco had intended for Dumbledore. He doesn't feel like confessing the extent of his ineptitude to the Potions Master. The cabinet is no closer to being fixed, and the end of the school year is quickly approaching.

A new thought creeps into his mind: what would Ginny say if she knew he'd been the one that nearly killed her brother at Christmas? What if Ron Weasley had actually _died_? Draco feels a swell of guilt, and swallows it down.

It's just weakness. He needs to steel himself.

If he wants power, if he wants greatness, then he needs to be strong enough to kill for it.

Feeling exhausted, he unrolls an empty scroll next to Pansy's. "Let's get started. _The Most Widely Used Draughts in the Modern_


	6. Chapter 6: Sectumsempra

**Chapter 6: Sectumsempra**

 _Draco_

The following afternoon, Draco gives Crabbe a dose of Polyjuice potion and slips into the Room of Requirement.

The tall chamber is crowded with odds and ends, but Draco only has eyes for the vanishing cabinet. He has put in so many hours and so many months trying and failing to repair it. None of the standard mending charms did any good. He was beginning to despair when he came across a library book containing spells to repair magical artefacts. The book had an entire section on bewitched cabinets and wardrobes, and now Draco is making his way through the section, hoping that something will stick.

After an hour of fiddling with the complicated wandwork, he is ready to tear his own hair out in frustration. He storms out of the room to find Grabbe waiting for him, the Polyjuice potion worn off. "Come on," he grunts.

Grabbe frowns. "How much longer is this gonna take?" he whines. "I'm sick of looking like a little girl, standing around this hallway. There isn't no one here anyway. Haven't you done it yet?"

"I told you not to ask questions," Draco scowls. "This is important business for the Dark Lord. Do you want to displease the Dark Lord, Grabbe?"

Grabbe quiets down, but he looks upset. Draco decides to risk showing him the Dark Mark next time if he continues being difficult. One thing he has enjoyed, in spite of everything else, is the look of shock and fear that crosses people's eyes when he shows them the Mark. For once, they take him seriously.

Draco and Grabbe make their way down the castle steps. Ahead, he catches sight of Ginny Weasley.

It's her audacious hair that makes her impossible to miss, even when she is surrounded by people (which she constantly is).

A little ways away, on the landing below, he notices Potter and his sidekicks. Granger and Weasley are engaged in some argument, but Potter's gaze is locked on Ginny.

He is looking at her with such naked longing that Draco wants to shout at him to stop, to charge at Potter and push him aside, thrust him to the ground, anything to smother that look before Ginny can notice. A feeling of futile hatred surges through Draco so suddenly that he's surprised Potter can't feel it emanating towards him.

If Potter wants her, it's only a matter of time before they end up together.

Ginny and her friends disappear around a corner, and students surge into the hallway on their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

Draco stands rooted to the spot, his insides twisting with anger at the unfairness of it. Famous Harry Potter has gotten everything Draco's ever wanted so effortlessly, so why not her as well.

"You go ahead," he tells Crabbe, who has already joined the queue into the Great Hall. "I'm not hungry. I'll eat later." He turns and walks quickly away from the crowd, elbowing his way between groups of chattering students. He fights his way down the staircase against the flow of bodies, bursts through the main doors, and finds himself outside by the lake again, walking briskly down the same dirt path that winds around the water. What does it matter, really, if Potter and Weasley begin dating? She's made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him.

Draco replays their argument in his mind. He has to agree with her – they are fundamentally different. She opposes everything he believes in. Or _thought_ he believed in.

His father would call him a coward, questioning his ideals for a pretty face, for a _Weasley_ of all people, but that's not the extent of it. The doubts and the fears had begun to seep into his mind long before that night in the dungeons.

His father has been telling stories of the Dark Lord's reign since Draco was a child: a time when the Malfoy name had been given the reverence it deserved, when the purity of their blood stood for something. Yet now that the Dark Lord has _finally_ returned, how quickly Lucius Malfoy has fallen to disfavor, locked away in Azkaban. Meanwhile, his mother is so consumed with worry she's practically having a nervous breakdown, and Draco has been given an impossible assignment that _nobody_ thinks he can accomplish.

He'd accused Ginny Weasley of being brainwashed by her Muggle-loving father, but couldn't she say the same of him?

The wind whistles in his ears and Draco shivers in the cold, but he keeps walking down the path, pounding out his jumbled thoughts into the dirt.

Dumbledore may be a Mudblood-lover, he may favour Harry Potter and his cronies, but at least he is somehow predictable in his actions. If nothing else, Dumbledore is a man of his word: he does not act rashly, does not murder indiscriminatingly.

Murder.

Is that his fate, once he fails to complete his mission? Draco's eyes sting in the wind. He blinks furiously. _Stop it!_ He thinks. _Don't be stupid._ _Control yourself._

Wiping his face roughly on his sleeve, he leaves the path for a patch of trees and leans heavily against a knotty oak. He wishes she were here, so he could speak to her about all this. She is the only one he could ever voice these thoughts to – certainly, he could never say anything to his friends or housemates, not after the way he's been boasting about the Dark Lord's return, dropping confident hints about his role in the inner circle. He slumps down and buries his face in his hands. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

* * *

 _Ginny_

She has never been to Dumbledore's office. In her first year after she'd been lifted out of the Chamber of Secrets, after Tom Riddle's memory had been vanquished from the diary, Dumbledore visited her in the hospital wing and they had had a long talk. Apart from that night, she's never had reason to seek out the headmaster, and doesn't truly know how to find him. She could ask Harry of course, but Ginny isn't going to bring this up with Harry, or anyone else. She wants to tell Dumbledore about Draco Malfoy's Dark Mark on her own terms.

In the end, she decides to approach McGonagall after Transfiguration. After waiting for the other students to clear out, she tells her friends that she has a question about the Transfiguration OWL and makes her way to the front of the room.

"Professor," she says tentatively.

"Yes, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny nears her desk, fiddling with the slipper she was meant to be transforming into a bird. "I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore. Could you help me arrange a meeting?"

McGonagall looks surprised and wary. "What is this about, Miss Weasley?"

"I can't say, Professor," Ginny says. "It's about a fellow student." She thinks of Draco's face in the setting sun by the lake and tries to recall her outrage from that night. "It's a matter of privacy, I guess. It's important for me to speak only with the headmaster."

"Very well, Miss Weasley, if you're sure you can't elaborate?" Ginny shakes her head, and McGonagall purses her lips. "The headmaster is indisposed at the moment, but you may speak with him in the evening after dinner. Come to the third floor corridor at eight o'clock this evening. I will be waiting for you in front of the gargoyle statue."

Ginny nods her thanks and leaves the room.

The afternoon goes by excruciatingly slowly. Time stands still in Potions, then drags through Arithmancy. Ginny does not fully taste the food she picks at during dinner, and she doesn't hear the chatter of her fellow fifth-year Gryffindors. In her head, she's rehearsing the conversation she will have with the headmaster, and then justifying her decision to Draco. The Draco Malfoy in her head is always defensive and rude and a little pathetic, but also really good-looking in his silver-green robes, a smirk wavering on those pale lips.

Finally, it is a quarter to eight. As Ginny attempts to slip through the portrait hole, her friend Concepta thrusts out an arm to block her way.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?"

"I'm just going to the library," Ginny invents. "There's a book I forgot to grab earlier, and I need it for my Transfiguration essay."

"Oh is there now? A book?"

Ginny laughs. "Yes! Come on Concepta, don't be weird."

"How cute is this book? On a scale of one to ten?"

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Don't be stupid."

Concepta gives her a probing look. "You've been really mysterious lately, Ginny. It's not like you. I know you and Dean broke up, and, well…"

"It's not a boy, I swear." _Although it sort of is a boy_. "I've just got a lot on my mind. Come on Concepta, I need to go." She finally makes it out of the portrait hole, and

hurries down the steps to the third floor. There is a rather hideous statue of a gargoyle at the foot of the landing. A few minutes after Ginny arrives, Dumbledore himself approaches the statue from the other end of the corridor. He walks slowly. Ginny notices the blackened hand hanging uselessly at his side. She's seen it before in the Great Hall of course, but up close it looks even more awful.

"Chocolate frog," he says good-naturedly, and the gargoyle steps aside to reveal a stone staircase rising into the air, leading up to the headmaster's office. "Good evening, Miss Weasley." he says.

"Thank you for seeing me, Professor Dumbledore," she says breathlessly. "I need to talk to you about…"

"Let us go up to my office, shall we?" he interrupts. He sounds weary. He seems to have aged a decade since she's last seen him up close: his face is thinner and deeply lined. He makes his way slowly up the stone steps.

In silence, Ginny follows. His office strikes her as immensely interesting, filled with all sorts of mysterious whirring objects. A stone basin stands on a pedestal near a large desk. Fawkes, Dumbledore's beautiful red and gold phoenix, is asleep in one corner of the circular room. Portraits of past headmasters cover the walls, some watching Ginny attentively, while others are snoozing or reading, and still others are absent from their frames altogether. Dumbledore walks around to sit behind his desk, and motions Ginny to take a seat in the chair opposite. "Now, Ginny, what can I do for you this evening?"

Ginny squirms in the seat. She has come this far; there is no changing her mind now. "I've come to speak with you about Draco Malfoy," she begins.

Dumbledore looks mildly surprised, but does not say anything, waiting instead for Ginny to continue.

Ginny finds that it is more difficult to say these words out loud to the real Dumbledore than to speak to an imaginary headmaster in her mind. She takes a shaky breath. "Draco Malfoy has become a Death Eater, Professor Dumbledore."

"Yes, our friend Harry is also quite concerned about Mr. Malfoy. Do you know that he's already spoken to me about his suspicions?"

"I know, Professor," Ginny says quickly, "and I know that you've told Harry not to concern himself with Draco, but these are not just _suspicions_. I've seen his Dark Mark for myself. He's told me the truth."

"Has he now?" There is the tone of mild surprise again, and Dumbledore looks at Ginny from behind his spectacles, his blue eyes not unkind, but curious. "However did you manage to convince Mr. Malfoy to take you into his confidence? If you don't mind me asking…"

Ginny is thrown by this question. She is prepared to tell Dumbledore the extent of what she knows about Draco's Dark Mark, which admittedly is not much, but she was not expecting to provide the exact details of their relationship. Ginny's face feels too hot. She knows she is blushing, and thinking about herself blushing only makes her blush more furiously.

"Umm…" she searches for a plausible story. She could say that she forced the information from Draco at wand-point, or that he accidentally left his sleeve rolled-up and she caught him unawares…but these lies sound wholly improbable under Dumbledore's pleasant yet probing gaze. "We had detention together in the dungeons last week," she begins. "We were cleaning up dugbogs for Mr. Filch, and Draco, um, I mean, Malfoy seemed very upset that night. We were alone, and we began…talking…and…" Ginny squirms in her seat. She takes a deep breath. "He showed me his Dark Mark, and he admitted he's on a secret mission for Voldemort." Her voice wavers only slightly at the name. "He wouldn't tell me exactly what the mission is, but I know he hasn't given it up."

Dumbledore nods. "I see." He pauses to think for a moment. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ginny. I will ask you to keep this information to yourself for the time being."

"What are you going to do?" she asks. When he doesn't immediately answer, she leans forward in her seat. "I know it's bad, Professor Dumbledore, but I don't think Draco Malfoy is completely evil or anything."

"Nobody is completely evil, dear Ginny, just as nobody is completely good. We are all of us both good and evil at different times, in different circumstances. This is what it means to be human."

Ginny nods. "Yes, but I just mean, he's not _all_ bad. I think he's scared, Professor Dumbledore. He feels like he has no choice, like he's trapped." Is she defending him? Ginny swallows hard. "Maybe you could help him," she says in a small voice. "I don't want him to get hurt."

Dumbledore nods. "Mr. Malfoy is poised to do terrible things, and if he succeeds, he must take responsibility for them. Fear is not an adequate excuse." He pauses. "However, I believe you're right Ginny in your assessment of Mr. Malfoy. I have to say, I've known about Draco's predicament for some time."

"You have, then," sighs Ginny. "I thought you might know, but I had to tell you anyway, to be sure."

"Thank you for coming to me. Once again, I urge you to keep this information to yourself. I have made efforts to help Mr. Malfoy as best I can, but this is a sensitive case – if I appear to know too much, Draco may find himself in even graver danger."

"Do you know what his mission is, then?"

Dumbledore looks very tired. Ginny wonders if he is ill. "I do, Ginny. I do not think you need concern yourself with the details." He pauses to catch his breath. "I think you'd better head back to the Gryffindor common room."

Feeling dismissed, Ginny thanks the headmaster again, and walks back down the winding staircase to the ugly gargoyle. She thought she would feel better after speaking to Dumbledore, but she feels the same: worried and restless.

After a quick detour to the library (Concepta would want to see the book that Ginny allegedly borrowed), she hurries back up the stairs to the seventh floor. She's out of breath by the time she climbs into the portrait hole. She takes a few steps into the common room, and stops short in surprise. "Katie!" Ginny exclaims. Katie Bell is sitting on an armchair with a group of seventh years, a thick stack of books and scrolls scattered around them. She looks just fine – smiling and chatty, her cheeks reddened from the heat in the fireplace. "You're back! It's so good to see you back!"

"Hi Ginny! I got back this morning. I can't believe nobody's told you yet. Harry's already scheduled Quidditch practice first thing tomorrow morning."

"I've been a bit preoccupied, I guess." Ginny stares at Katie. "But you're OK?" she asks, though she can glean the answer from the other girl's energetic demeanor.

"I'm fine now, and before you ask, I don't know who sent me that necklace. Everyone's been asking me, but I have no memory of it at all." She sighs. "It's really a drag. I've missed so much school for nothing. I've got loads of homework of course, and I'm gutted that I missed the last Quidditch match. I heard McLaggen was a _disaster_."

Ginny makes a gagging noise, and Katie laughs. "It's so great to have you back, Katie. It really is."

"I can't wait to get back on the field tomorrow morning," Katie says.

"Now that you're back, and Ron's healthy again, we're going to be unstoppable!" Ginny feels suddenly full of energy. The thought of possibly winning the Quidditch cup fills her with excitement, with purpose. She runs up the stairs to the girls' dormitory and scoops the pile of neglected study books into her arms. Her first OWL exam is less than a month away. It's time to stop putting her life on hold for Draco Malfoy.

He doesn't completely leave her mind. She still watches him out of the corner of her eye during mealtimes, as Pansy Parkinson drapes herself all over him and makes him fruit plates at breakfast, and Crabbe and Goyle laugh at his (probably) banal jokes during dinner. Since he is a year ahead, they don't share any classes, but in the corridors she'll catch him looking at her when nobody else is near.

He never approaches her, and though she wants to go to him sometimes, to ask him about the growing shadows beneath his eyes, she walks resolutely onward and pushes Draco from her mind. He is not a part of her life. She will not be friends with a willing Death Eater. She has told Dumbledore what she knows, and she needs to trust that the headmaster is better equipped to handle the situation.

As she delves fully back into her life, Ginny wonders how she ever had the headspace for anything else. Alarming piles of homework, OWL study sessions, and early morning Quidditch practices overwhelm her free time. Now that the Gryffindor team is whole again, everyone is in good spirits.

The game with Ravenclaw is on Saturday, and even though a 300 point victory is a long shot, everyone on the team feels the win is within their grasp. On the pitch, Ginny is buoyed by the cold spring winds, infected by the team's optimism.

She laughs easily and often.

She laughs often with Harry.

She notices that his gaze is becoming less tentative and more forward, his affection spilling out in his jokes and his lopsided grins. Unsure how she feels about this, Ginny keeps her distance. She surrounds herself with friends when Harry is near, when he has that soft look in his eyes. She isn't ready to face him alone, unable to fully recall that feeling of wanting Harry Potter so badly that she could think of nothing else.

If Harry does ask her out, she isn't sure how she'll respond. Thankfully, Ron is committed to discussing Quidditch strategy at every waking moment and refuses to leave Harry's side.

It's a few days before the big match with Ravenclaw, and Ginny spends the afternoon in the library surrounded by dusty tomes, researching an essay for Professor Slughorn. As she and Concepta finally make it out into the light of day with ink-stained fingers, Alicia and Katie intercept Ginny on the way to Great Hall with the news that Harry has earned detention with Snape and won't play Seeker in the final match.

"You can't be serious!" cries Ginny, furious. "That's not fair! Snape just has it out for us, the greasy bastard."

"What did Harry do to get detention?" Concepta asks, sitting down at the Gryffindor table.

"Nearly killed Malfoy in the boys' bathroom," says Alicia nonchalantly, filing her plate with Yorkshire puddings and roasted meat. "Moaning Myrtle won't shut up about it. She's been coming up through the pipes in all the girls' toilets, telling anyone who will listen how Harry Potter is a murderer, and how gory and bloody the whole affair was."

"Is he OK?" Ginny asks. Her insides squirm.

"Who? Harry? Yeah, he's fine. He's choked up about the game, though. Merlin, I really thought we were going to win this time," says Katie.

"Don't talk like we don't have a chance!" Alicia retorts. "Dean is a decent Chaser, and Ginny, you'll fill-in as Seeker."

"What happened to Malfoy?" Ginny asks. "Does he have detention too?"

"He's in the hospital wing," Alicia says. "I think he's hurt pretty bad. Myrtle says Harry did some kind of dark magic on him, but I don't believe that. Harry wouldn't do that."

"No," Ginny agrees faintly. "He wouldn't." She looks around, but doesn't see Harry at the dinner table. Ron and Hermione aren't there either. It's still early in the day for dinner, and the Gryffindor table is mostly empty.

Lee Jordan leans over to join their conversation. "I heard Malfoy was the one who started the whole thing. He was trying to curse Harry. With an Unforgivable Curse," he adds, pausing for emphasis. "Harry was just defending himself."

"That sounds like Malfoy," Katie agrees. "Trust a Slytherin to use an illegal curse at school."

"Too bad we can't prove it," says Lee Jordan. "Myrtle was the only witness, but she's not exactly a reliable narrator, what with all the wailing and the overflowing toilets."

Ginny makes a show of moving the food around on her plate while Katie and Alicia begin to talk Quidditch strategy. She leaves the Great Hall with her food half-eaten. Concepta shoots her a concerned look, but Ginny doesn't stop to explain.

She wants very much to go the hospital wing to have a look at him. Myrtle does like to exaggerate, but even Alicia said he was hurt pretty badly. But the hospital wing is probably full of Slytherins. Ginny isn't prepared to be seen visiting Draco Malfoy's sickbed, and she's sure Draco wouldn't appreciate her making an appearance in broad daylight. It's not her place, anyway. He's not her friend.

He's not her anything.

A dislocated feeling of anger and worry rises in her throat like bile. _He probably deserved it_ , she thinks.

Ginny climbs the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower. She steps through the portrait hall in time to see Hermione berating Harry about his Potions textbook.

Hermione is fully indignant, waving her arms for emphasis. "How can you still stick up for that book when the spell - "

"Will you stop harping on about the book!" Harry interrupts, sounding cross.

Ginny frowns and listens in. The tension in the room fuels her own frustration, and it feels good not to push it back down for once. She pieces together details of the bathroom duel and the spell in the textbook written by the unidentified Prince. Hermione won't let it go, and Harry won't quit defending his textbook, and the anger is tight in Ginny's chest as she watches them argue, back and forth.

"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," she finally exhales, and Harry's eyes whip up to catch hers in surprise. How can she go on and on about some stupid book when Harry and Draco nearly murdered each in the boys lavatory. "By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse." _Just like the bloody Death Eater he is_ , she almost adds. Instead she says, "You should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve."

"Well of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed," says Hermione, sounding both surprised and hurt at Ginny's intervention. "But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny. Look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought, seeing at what this has done to your chances at the match- "

"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch, you'll only embarrass yourself." Ginny snaps.

Hermione is too shocked to respond. Harry and Ron stare from her to Hermione without saying a word, until Ron grabs a book from a nearby coffee table and disappears behind it.

Harry is trying to catch her eye. He looks surprised, but pleased – he is barely containing the grin that's threatening to erupt all over his face.

In the awkward, silent aftermath of the argument, Ginny finds an empty armchair and takes out the essay for Slughorn that she should have been working on all afternoon. She feels bad, but not bad enough to apologize. The anger in her chest has liquefied and cooled into a pool of worry. She wants to ask Harry for all the details, from the moment he spotted Draco Malfoy in the bathroom, to the moment Snape found Draco bleeding all over the floor. Was he breathing? Was he conscious? But Ginny doesn't think she can formulate the questions without sounding abnormal.

Instead, she waits for the evening to pass, finishes her essay, and goes up to the girls' dormitory at ten o'clock only to lie on her blankets in her pale blue nightgown and stare at the canopy of her bed.

She can hear the fifth-year girls sleeping all around her: even breathing, occasional hiccoughing coughs, irregular snores. She doesn't know what time it is, but it's pitch black in the room when Ginny gets out of bed and slips on a jumper over her nightgown. The floor is freezing. She tiptoes out of the room, down the staircase, and out of the portrait hole past the sleeping fat lady.

Keeping one eye out for Peeves, and the other for Filch and Mrs. Norris, Ginny makes her way through the silent castle, sticking to the shadows. The Bloody Baron floats up the corridor, and Ginny hides behind a suit of armour, then hurries into a secret passageway that Fred and George discovered in their second year, behind a large painting of a jolly monk. It takes her down several flights of stairs and just a stone's throw from the hospital wing.

Moonlight trickles from the high windows, casting patterned shadows on the covers of the empty hospital beds. Madame Pomfrey is nowhere to be seen – probably in her own chambers for the night. Ginny steps inside, her bare feet silent on the stone tiles.

Draco is asleep in the only occupied bed. He is ivory-coloured in a room made of shadows. As Ginny approaches, she can see his bare chest wrapped in bandages where his blanket has fallen away, some of them dark with seeping stains. Her own breathing sounds too-loud in all the stillness.

She leans down and watches him sleep. His white-blond hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyelids quiver from time to time without opening. His breath is even. Ginny can see the lean muscle in his bare arms, and she can see thin, silver scars below his collarbone, snaking across his ivory chest where the bandages have already come off.

He wakes with a start, seemingly from nothing at all. Recognizing Ginny, he tries to sit up too quickly, and grimaces. His eyes are wide and grey, and Ginny thinks he looks just like a ghost in the moonlit room. Like he's already died, and come back to haunt her.

* * *

 __

 _Draco_

When he opens his eyes and sees her kneeling at the foot of his bed, he thinks at first that it's Pansy come back to check on him. Very quickly, though, he realizes who it is. Even in the darkness her orange hair is unmistakable.

"I still think you're an evil prat," she says. "I've only come to see that you're alive."

Still groggy from sleep and from the potion Madame Pomfrey had given him for the pain, Draco stares at Ginny for a long moment. She really is lovely in the moonlight, otherworldly.

Thin trickles of pain still course through his body where the scars are healing. Draco wants to sit up fully, but doesn't think he can manage it. "Your boyfriend tried to kill me," he says instead.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she says. "And you probably deserved it." She lifts herself up to sit on the edge of his bed. Ginny is wearing a fuzzy mauve Christmas jumper and a nightgown that doesn't quite reach her knees. Draco watches as she folds her long, pale legs beneath her. "Anyway, it was an accident. Harry didn't know what that spell would do."

"I kind of figured," says Draco. "I didn't think Potter knew any spells that cool, and if he did, he would never have the balls to use them."

"It's actually a good sort of spell for your complexion," Ginny says with a smirk. "All that blood spurting out against your pale skin must have looked really dramatic." She reaches over and traces the thin scars visible above his bandages, as if she can't quite help touching him. Then, she lays her palm flat against his bare chest to feel his heartbeat.

Draco doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to scare her away. Something occurs to her, and she turns to look at his left arm. There is a thick bandage all around his forearm where the Dark Mark is burned into his skin.

"Snape did that before he took me into the hospital wing. Lucky he was the first one to find me."

"So Snape knows, then," says Ginny.

Draco realizes he's given the Potions Master away. Would Ginny tell Dumbledore that he's not really a double agent, that he's on the Dark Lord's side after all? It's another thing he's got to worry about, but not now. He is too tired now to think about anything but Ginny Weasley running her fingers all along his chest, his arms, his face.

"I should go," she says finally. "I'm sorry you got hurt," she adds.

If Draco had the strength, he would lift his arms up to encompass her and draw her into him. "Stay with me," he says instead. "Just lie down here for a moment longer."

"I should let you rest," Ginny whispers. "You don't look so good."

"You should have seen me earlier," he says with a grin. He finds her hand with his own and lattices their fingers together. "Just for a little while," he whispers.

At first, it looks like she's going to leave. But then, carefully, she lies down next to him on the narrow hospital bed which really is only meant for one person. Her ridiculous jumper tickles his chest. After a moment, she slips her bare legs inside his blanket. "It's cold in here," she explains somewhat bashfully. Her legs press against his pajama bottoms, and Draco stifles a yelp as her ice-cold toes find his own.

"Where are your shoes?" he asks.

"There wasn't time for shoes," she says.


	7. Chapter 7: Ginny's Boyfriend

**Chapter 7: Ginny's Boyfriend**

 _Ginny_

The early-morning sunlight filters down through the windows, and Ginny wakes with a start. She is disorientated, in a cocoon of warmth. Malfoy's body is pressed against hers, his breath even and calm. A part of her wants to close her eyes and hold him tighter, bury herself into the crook of his neck and inhale that _boy_ smell.

Instead, Ginny slides out from under the covers, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. She must have fallen asleep. What if someone had seen them? What if she hadn't woken in time, before Madame Pomfrey had appeared to check on Draco, before a gang of Slytherins had sauntered into the hospital wing?

Ginny should be counting her lucky stars.

She looks at him one last time. He's peaceful, his bandaged chest rising and falling. His face is calm, free of tension, his white-blond hair splayed across his forehead.

Ginny turns away. She hurries back through the silent castle, back through the secret passageway, and back into the Gryffindor common room (The fat lady is not happy to be woken by her urgent whispers). Somehow, with her heart hammering all the way, she manages to make it back to her dorm and into her bed, only moments before her dorm mates begin to stir.

The day passes in a haze. She feels underslept, and every time she closes her eyes for a moment, she can picture him perfectly: his bandaged chest and the tired, pleading look he gave her last night. He looked so wretched in that hospital bed. Ginny has to remind herself how he got there: he nearly cursed Harry with an Unforgivable.

Things are awkward between her and Hermione, and Concepta keeps giving her knowing glances like she can read Ginny's mind.

She slogs through her morning classes. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape deducts ten points from Gryffindor because Ginny ignores him completely when he asks her a question. She doesn't hear him.

She tries to pry her mind away from Draco Malfoy, to focus on the tasks in front of her, but he is always there at the back of her mind, at the front of her wayward thoughts.

 _Stop it_ , she tells herself. So he got himself injured and nearly cursed Harry, that's hardly reason to gloss over his bad qualities. He's arrogant and petty. He's mean and heartless. _Maybe not heartless_ , Ginny thinks. _Maybe not entirely_.

That evening, Harry keeps the Gryffindor team is on the pitch well past sundown. Ginny can barely make out Ron in the Keeper's Ring across the pitch. She pitches forward on her broom, ducking beneath Demelza and Dean who pass the Quaffle back and forth in a complicated, zigzagging pattern that Harry has etched into the sky for them to follow. Ginny scans the sky for the tiny, golden ball. She wonders if she can hone her Seeker skills quickly enough to win the cup. Harry's on his broom, but he doesn't play; he knows he'll have detention during the match, so he drills them mercilessly.

The match with Ravenclaw is one day away.

It's proper nightfall by the time they leave the pitch. She walks back to the castle with Ron and Harry, wiping the sweat from her forehead and releasing her hair from its ponytail.

The boys begin to climb the staircase to the Gryffindor tower, but Ginny lingers. "You go ahead," she calls. "I've got to meet some friends at the library."

"At this hour?" asks Ron. "Madame Pince'll send you straight back to the common room."

"Just mind your own business, Ron," she mutters, and stalks off in the other direction.

She wishes she had Harry's invisibility cloak, but all she can conjure is a simple concealment charm. It doesn't hide her from view, but it does make her less noticeable, more likely to blend into the background. It is just enough to let her peek into the hospital wing and check on Malfoy without being seen.

She thought it would be late enough, that he would be alone, but Pansy Parkinson is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. She is touching him: her finger trailing his bare arm. Blood rushes to Ginny's face. She has an impulse to leave, but she lurks in the doorway instead.

"You look better, Draco," says Pansy. Her voice is surprisingly gentle. Normally, Pansy communicates by spitting insults, but with Draco her voice has grown soft and feathery. "You've suffered so much. I hope Potter is expelled."

"You know that would never happen."

"Not with Dumbledore running the school. It's so unfair. You could have been killed." She brushes back his hair, her fingers lingering on his forehead.

Draco sneers. "He should be punished, at the very least. He's just got detention. Probably doing lines for Snape. Sure, he can't play Quidditch, but that's hardly adequate punishment if you ask me."

"It's preferential treatment."

"For Dumbledore's golden boy. Big surprise."

It's like they finish each others' sentences. Ginny rolls her eyes. He is such a wanker, and here Ginny is, vying to be Mrs. Wanker.

Draco does look stronger. He's sitting up, his shoulders squared, and his new set of bandages are no longer stained dark with his blood.

Pansy leans over and places her head against his heart, the place where Ginny lay only hours before. "Soon that will all change," she says quietly, so Ginny has to strain to make out her words. "Soon the Dark Lord will rid this school of Mudbloods and blood traitors, and people like us will receive our due reward."

"It's only a matter of time," Draco smirks. He moves his head sideways, and his lips fall on Pansy's temple. He kisses it softly.

Ginny nearly trips over her own feet backing out the door. Draco lifts his grey eyes abruptly, searching the doorway, but she's outside his field of vision.

She hurriedly makes her way back to the Gryffindor common room, a knot in her stomach.

 _Forget it. Forget him._ Ginny sinks into a sofa across from the fireplace. With a flick of her wand, a fire begins to stir in the hearth. She stares at it, growing warm, drawing her legs into her chest. She's not eleven anymore, and it's about time she stop pining over dark wizards and evil arseholes.

* * *

Harry steps tentatively through the portrait hole. He takes a moment to appraise the situation, and Ginny watches his expression change as he realizes that they've won the Quidditch Cup.

She mirrors his wide grin from across the room, happy enough to laugh out loud at his astonished expression.

Her heart has been thrumming continuously since her fingers closed around the Snitch, since the deafening roar of the crowd erupted from the stands, since her teammates crushed her into a hug as they each landed on the slippery grass. It was amazing, incredible. The Gryffindors won an epic victory, and Ginny was a fucking superstar.

Harry begins to make his way through the crowd. The cheering, which barely had a chance to die down, resumes in full force as the Gryffindors spot their captain. Ginny is pumped full of adrenaline, her face bright red, dancing on the balls of her feet.

Harry Potter is standing in the middle of the room, grinning broadly. The crowd is wild all around him, but The Boy Who Lived only has eyes for her. Ginny decides then and there to stop avoiding Harry and his lingering gaze, to stop hiding behind Ron, to stop putting off the inevitable.

They won the match, she caught the Snitch, and now she will reward herself with a new start. With the _right_ start.

Ginny takes two long strides towards him. He meets her with alarming decidedness. He is broader than she realized, more solid in this close proximity. Harry takes her by the elbows, and draws her into him. And before she quite finds her footing, his face is in hers, his mouth is on hers, his tongue is flicking shyly against her closed lips.

Ginny pulls away, breathless. She hears somebody wolf-whistle. She looks over her shoulder and sees Concepta giving her a thumbs up. She sees Ron shrugging at Harry, as if to say "Go ahead, mate." Ginny turns back to Harry. His glasses are askew, and his green eyes are wide and nervous.

He is so unlike Draco. He wears it all on his face, everything he feels. He is easy to read, easy to love. He is the hero, after all.

Ginny pulls on Harry's robes, pulls his face close to hers, and presses her lips against his.

* * *

 _Draco_

Draco surveys his scars. They crisscross his chest, fine, silver lines etched onto his skin. Madame Pomfrey says they will fade over time, but will never vanish entirely. Dark magic leaves a mark. But he already knew that.

He shrugs on a clean shirt, buttons it up. He puts on his Slytherin robes and combs his hair back. He stares at himself in the mirror. He looks unscathed. Maybe a bit more pale than usual, a bit thinner, his cheekbones more pronounced, the shadows darker under his eyes.

Draco blinks rapidly. He needs to get it together. He's lost nearly a week recovering in the hospital wing, and the Dark Mark has been pulsating on his arm, making him acutely aware of the numbered days remaining until the end of term.

A thought occurs to him: Dumbledore will be dead before the students of Hogwarts head home for the year, and it will be by Draco's own hand. The alternative is death. His own death. Draco swallows hard, keeping his face impassive. Maybe if he were a braver man…

As he leaves the boy's dormitory, Crabbe and Goyle flank him on either side. He meets Pansy and Millicent queuing up for breakfast in the Great Hall.

It's Sunday, and it's the first truly warm day of the year. He can see the sun coming in through the tall windows, and the wide blue sky beyond. After months of fog and rain, summer is on the horizon. In spite of everything, a tinge of optimism blooms in his chest.

As they approach, Pansy's brow wrinkles with worry. "Oh, Draco," she says in the syrupy voice she's taken to using with him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he says.

"Oh, well I'm so glad you're finally out of the hospital wing." She loops her arm into his, and they make their way to the Slytherin table.

While Pansy reaches for the eggs, he scans the hall. He wants to see Ginny Weasley: Her freckled face, her fierce eyes, and her lovely, sweeping red hair.

He waited for her each night in the hospital wing, but she never returned.

He won't make a scene, won't do anything rash. He just wants to look at her, maybe catch her eye, maybe talk to her privately. It might be a side-effect of being torn open by Potter's curse, but he needs to talk to her before he goes back to the Room of Requirement and returns to the Dark Lord's task. To _really_ talk to her.

But she's not in the Great Hall. Pansy notices him staring at the Gryffindor table. "Looks like Potter's not showing his face at mealtimes," she scoffs. "He's probably afraid you'll retaliate now that you're healthy again."

After breakfast, Draco follows everyone's lead and heads into the sunshine. He curves around the same path they argued on days ago (or was it weeks ago?). He turns a corner, and that's when he sees them: Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

They are kissing in plain sight.

They are sitting beneath a drooping oak tree, and his arm is around her waist, and his stupid, ugly face is pushed right up to hers.

Draco stops short. Grabbe and Goyle also pause, waiting for Draco to comment, to say something derisive, so they can laugh.

His face turns red, anger and shock pounding at his temples. "Potty and the Weasel," he shouts a note too loud. She turns around in surprise. "Isn't this just a match made in heaven? A blood traitor and a Mudblood lover." The sneer quivers on his lips.

A writhing insecurity has awakened in Draco's gut. _Of course_ she never returned to see him. _Of course_ she forgot all about him once Potter finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. He crosses his arms to keep his hands from shaking. "Disgusting. Do that in your own common room, will you? We just ate, and I don't want Crabbe here to hurl up his sausage."

"Sod off, Malfoy," says Potter. He's mildly annoyed.

Ginny says nothing, only looks up to frown at him defiantly. But when she meets his eyes, a shadow of guilt crosses her features.

Draco blinks several times. Then, he turns and walks back towards the castle. Crabbe and Goyle barely have time to bark out their laughter before having to turn around and stumble after him.

He sits for a long time in the empty potions classroom. Most of the student body is outside, enjoying the warm weather, and the room is ensconced in a cool, dusty silence.

The old jealousy sits like a leaden ball in the pit of his stomach. Draco still wants her so badly. He wants to touch her, to run his hands through her red curls, to feel her body against his. He wants her, but Potter gets to have her. He gets to kiss her, and hold her hand, and walk laughing down the hallways alongside Granger and Weasel, and the whole sodding world will cheer for them.

* * *

A/N: I have been trying to keep this fic mostly in line with canon so far, but the next few chapters will start to be more AU. I know this chapter ends on a down note, but this is a Drinny fic after all, so...stay with me! Thanks again for all who have reviewed. I really appreciate all my readers! Please feel free to comment on the story, or if you have any good fic recommendations, message me those as well! I'm a sucker for any decent Draco-centric fanfic: Drinny, Dramione, Drarry - I love it all. Next chapter will be up in about a week.


	8. Chapter 8: Draco's Triumph

**Chapter 8: Draco's Triumph**

 _Ginny_

The whole school is abuzz with rumours about her and Harry, or at least the female population. Ginny feels like she's been thrown into the spotlight, like she's dating a celebrity (which in some sense, she is).

It's not that she was unknown or unpopular before, but this new popularity leaves a different taste in her mouth. It is part curiosity, part envy, and it does not feel altogether friendly. She's never been one to care what other people think. Growing up in a house full of boys, Ginny had developed a thick skin at a young age. Still, she can feel their eyes prickle the back of her neck, the constant feeling of being observed and judged.

Poor Harry, she thinks. He's always occupied this space.

Of course she's been friends with Harry for years, and they've spent plenty of time together before, especially this past summer at the Burrow.

Now, they are friends who snog on occasion, and sometimes Harry will awkwardly take her hand into his. It inevitably grows sweaty, so Ginny removes it, wipes it on her thigh. There is some level of comfort and familiarity, but also a budding awkwardness at the newness of their relationship.

Harry is happy. Hermione tells her as much, the awkwardness between them having evaporated after the match. They sit in the common room and have something akin to girl talk, though neither Ginny nor Hermione normally engage in such things.

"He just seems relaxed, doesn't he? Like he's floating on a cloud," says Hermione with a smile.

Ginny nods, forcing a smile back. She can see for herself that Harry is thoroughly content.

"It's just so natural, you two getting together."

"Like you and Ron?"

"Oh!" Hermione blushes furiously. "Well, I mean, not exactly…"

Ginny laughs and slaps her on the shoulder. "Oh, come on. I'm only having a go." But they both know that Hermione and her brother are as preordained as she and Harry.

She imagines them grown up, both married, the Dark Times behind them, with a gaggle of red-headed children. Just like a picture on a greeting card.

She'll knit hideous Christmas jumpers just like Mum, and fret over whether little Harry Junior is getting into undue trouble.

In the end, she and Harry scarcely see each other because Ginny is studying for her OWLs. She's already written the Transfiguration and Potions OWLs, and they both went well enough. If anything, Hermione seemed more on edge on her behalf.

And Draco Malfoy… she can't help but look at him whenever he's near. She can feel his presence even before her eyes find his blond head in the crowd. Her stomach clenches when she sees him. He looks worse each time, thinner and more pale, his eyes bloodshot, always distracted.

There is an air of desperation about him that she tries and fails to ignore, that creeps into her thoughts when she is alone, and oftentimes even when she is with Harry.

When his eyes flit across hers, there is always that look of betrayal. But he avoids her when he can, avoids her gaze entirely.

* * *

Ginny steps outside and takes a great gulp of cold air. It's not that she's avoiding the common room (or Harry); she just needs to clear her head after hours of cramming in the library for the Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. This one's got to count if she'll have any hope of becoming an Auror someday.

She loops around to the back of the castle, hugging the Quidditch pitch, wandering aimlessly. It's dusk, and there's a sweet, misty taste to the wind.

She looks up to see Draco Malfoy walking towards her.

He catches sight of her at the same moment. And he stops walking, as if unsure if he should go forward, or turn around.

He decides to keep going, and they reach one another on the path, alone for the first time in weeks.

"Malfoy," says Ginny as he approaches. "You look awful." He really does. His robes are neat, as always, but his face is all angles and shadows. He looks exhausted.

"Thanks, Weasley," he drawls. He walks right by her, but then turns around to face her without completely stopping. "How's Potter?"

Ginny doesn't answer. Instead, she says the thing she's been turning over in her mind for the last several days: "I did come to see you in the hospital wing, you know."

He stops then, looking surprised. "When? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Pansy Parkinson was there. I didn't want to interrupt."

"And you got jealous? Is that why … I mean, is that why you never….?" He's not sure how to phrase the question, not sure how to define the tenuous bond they share.

"No I wasn't jealous, Malfoy!" She feels frustration itching up her spine. "I was disgusted. I heard you talking, and it just reminded me how little you've changed."

"Who says I've changed?" But he looks curious, and he takes a step towards her. "What do you mean, then? What did you hear?"

"You talked about blood traitors and the rise of the Dark Lord. You and Pansy, just the same way you've always talked with your Slytherin cronies."

Draco sighs. "It's just words, Ginny. They don't mean anything."

"Don't they?" She is fuming, riling herself up. "So, you don't mean it? You aren't waiting for your Dark Lord to rise up? You aren't all hoping that the Ministry falls, that purebloods will take control, take precedence in the Magical world?"

"No … I don't know. I don't know, okay? I haven't figured it out yet."

"Well that's not good enough. If you were a good person, you would know. You wouldn't hesitate."

"If I were a good person like Potter, you mean."

"I didn't say that. This isn't about Harry."

"Isn't it, though?"

"No," she says icily. "It's about you Draco, and your bigotry, and your hatred. I don't think you're an evil person, but not being completely evil is a pretty low bar, don't you think?"

For a moment, Draco doesn't know how to respond. "I don't think I'm evil," he says finally. "I don't think my family's evil."

"Well, they are. They believe in evil things, and they are following an evil man. How can you not see that? Didn't you say it yourself, how you wish Voldemort had never returned?"

" _Don't!"_ hisses Draco. "Don't say his name." He brings his hands to his face, running his fingers anxiously through his hair. "It's not so simple, can't you see that? These are things I've always taken for granted, that everyone I know, everyone close me, has always believed."

"Well, that's not good enough," she says again. She swallows hard, her anger mingling with something else, something she doesn't want to think about. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm not saying I don't care about you. But having any kind of relationship, even talking to you like this - it's not fair to myself, to the people I love."

Ginny pauses, wanting to say more, but unsure if she should. "Look, I've already told Dumbledore everything."

Draco looks up, startled, panicked. "What? When?"

"Weeks ago. Before you ended up in the hospital. After we had that argument by the lake."

The colour drains from his face. "Then why hasn't he done anything?"

"He says he knows what your mission is. He told me to forget about it, to let him worry about it."

"No, that can't be true." Draco laughs, like the idea is absurd. "If he knew, he would stop me. He of all people…"

"Talk to the Headmaster. He can help you."

Draco scoffs, his voice growing hollow. "He can't help me."

"Why not?"

"He just can't, all right!"

Ginny feels the blood rising to her face, her Weasley temper flaring. "I don't understand how, after everything you've seen, everything I _know_ you feel, that you would still hesitate to denounce Lord Voldemort."

"Don't say it," he says weakly. "It's not so easy, Ginny."

"Isn't it, though?" She feels the anger full-on now, the helpless anger rushing through her like wildfire: anger that he is failing her, that he won't be the person that she _knows_ he can be. "But I understand now. You were always just a jealous, spoiled prat, weren't you Draco?"

"What?"

"You were never as famous as Harry, or as good at Quidditch, and you weren't as smart as Hermione, and you can't seem to get a proper hex past me. You're always trying to make yourself out to be more special than you are. And now, finally, you are special. You've been chosen, haven't you?"

He unconsciously clutches his arm, where the Dark Mark burns beneath his sleeve.

"Well fine, then. If you want to keep building yourself up on hate and lies, that's fine. But I won't be part of it. You're planning something terrible, I know you are, and it's not too late to back down. But you've got to make that choice. You've got to be brave enough."

He looks at Ginny, and for once his eyes are unguarded, full of worry and pain, of indecision. "It's not so easy," he says again, softer this time. He takes a step closer, and even through her anger, she wants to go to him, to wrap her arms around his neck, to draw him into her.

"Do you love Potter?" he asks.

Ginny looks into his face. Her heart contracts.

"Yes," she says because she wants to believe it. She's got to be brave enough to make her right choice. She _will_ love Harry. She _won't_ let herself have feelings for a Death Eater.

A bare, desperate look of betrayal flashes across his face. And then he composes himself. He looks at her coldly. "You're wrong about me. I've already made my choice." He pushes past her and he doesn't look back.

* * *

 _Draco_

He doesn't sleep. He goes to the Room of Requirement every evening after dinner, and he stays there until morning. He's given up using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts. It's too much hassle, and when it's late enough, the seventh floor corridor is abandoned anyway. Pansy is starting to ask questions about why he's never around, but he feeds her halfhearted excuses: at the library, prefect duties, favours for Snape. It's clear she is not buying them, that she is noticing how unraveled he must look each morning, but Draco doesn't care.

There is so little time, only weeks to go before the end of term, so he is throwing caution to the wind.

He doesn't mind. It's a distraction. And he's getting closer.

Sometimes he is so tired that he sleeps in disorienting bursts, propped up against the cabinet in the Room of Requirement.

In the daytime, he still makes it to most of his classes, but he's lost focus, lost any care he had for school. Trivial lessons in Charms or Transfiguration won't matter in the long run. Next year, he probably won't even be back at Hogwarts. It's not like he has to worry about taking his NEWTs. He may not even be alive at all.

His Dark Mark burns intermittently now. But even this feeling is numbed like all the others, numbed by his exhaustion and his single-focus: the vanishing cabinet.

And then it happens. He's had scarcely an hour in the Room of Requirement, fiddling with the cabinet, rereading the dog-eared pages of the books he'd dug up on magical artefacts, trying the same incantations and adjusting his wand movement. And he senses a change.

He opens the cabinet doors and looks inside. What had always felt like a windy, broken channel now sharpens into focus.

His heart beating, Draco steps fully into the cabinet. If he is wrong, he could become trapped like Montague was last year. But he is not wrong; he can feel it as surely as he can breathe the musty air of the small space. He closes the door, turns around, and opens another door.

Draco steps into Borkin and Burkes. The shop is dark, closed for the day. Outside, he can see the street lamps glittering on the wet pavement; it's raining in London. He can hear the wet smack of rain on the deserted street.

He walks around the empty shop, stunned by his own success. It worked perfectly. Even he didn't think it would be so easy. With all of its charms and its protective spells developed by some of the best wizards of the age, he had managed to open a door directly into Hogwarts.

He grins, the warmth of his success spreading through his chest. He's really done it, and without anyone's help.

The rain continues to fall in a steady, wet pitter-patter. Draco paces, listening to rain, his thoughts looping wildly in his exhausted mind. After a while, he steps back into the cabinet, closes the door, and opens another one. He is back in the Room of Requirement, back at Hogwarts, the sound of rain barely an echo.

* * *

 **A/N** Thanks for reading and reviewing! We're getting close to the end here, maybe two or three chapters to go. The next one should be up in about a week or so. As always, reviews are appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9: Dumbledore's Offer

**Chapter 9: Dumbledore's Offer**

 _Draco_

Maybe it's all the hours spent alone in the Room of Requirement, but Draco is beginning to think that his own mind is something like that room. It's filled with odds and ends, things kept hidden, objects tucked away.

He's always been good at compartmentalization. He can lock up an unpleasant idea, a disturbing thought, a secret wish. He can keep everything in its place.

But there is a point, a breaking point, when it becomes too much. When the room becomes too cluttered. When the things tucked away, the unpleasant things, begin to topple over and scatter before Draco can clean them up, organize them back into place.

There is Father in Azkaban.

There is the Dark Lord threatening his life and his family.

There is the Malfoy name, fallen to disfavour.

There is Pansy hovering over him, Grabbe and Goyle, Zabini and Nott, asking questions about what he's up to, wanting details about all the innuendos he's been dropping since the start of term.

There is Snape trailing his every move.

There is his task. The killing curse. The Headmaster.

There is Ginny Weasley.

He closes his eyes and the image of her spills into the forefront of his mind: the way she looked in the moonlight of the hospital ward. Her fingers warm against the chill of his skin. Her body hot against his beneath the covers. Their legs entangled. Her breath a steady puff against his face.

There is Potter. Always Potter, always in the way. Always the victor.

Draco opens his eyes. He takes a shaky breath, and pushes the thoughts down, down, back into the nooks and hidden crannies of his brain. He pushes down the fear, the shame, the hurt and the envy.

He looks at his reflection in the mirror in the prefect's bathroom and adjusts his tie.

Now he's the victor. None of them know what's coming.

* * *

As soon as Draco sent word to Mother that he found a way into Hogwarts, his aunt Bellatrix took over. He'd managed to keep his plans secret for months, to keep Snape out of his head, to keep control.

But that's all quickly unraveling.

At first, his aunt wouldn't take him seriously. He had to meet her and Mother at Borgin and Burke's one morning to prove that he'd really found a way into the castle.

When he stepped through the cabinet into the shop, Bellatrix went wild. She shrieked like a harpy, grabbed his shoulders and put her face right up to his. She told him, "Well done, Draco! The Dark Lord will be so pleased." Her breath smelled like decay.

Mother looked sick with worry. She hugged him for a full five minutes, standing in the middle of the dusty shop with arms locked around his torso. Draco would have pushed her away if he hadn't felt so exhausted, and frankly, a little in need of a hug.

Aunt Bellatrix took charge after that.

She tells him that she will get everything organized on the outside. Draco's only remaining job is to send word the next time Dumbledore leaves the castle. (And to kill the Headmaster of course.)

And after that … Well, he isn't sure. He isn't privy to that information, even though he orchestrated the entire thing. He supposes that he'll need to run from Hogwarts, that Bellatrix will help him to escape after it's all finished.

Draco sits on the leather sofa in the common room, turning the enchanted Galleon over in his hands. Rosmerta has the other one, to let him know the moment Dumbledore Apparates out of Hogsmeade. Draco has been maintaining the Imperius curse over the barmaid since Christmas.

Pansy finds him on the sofa. It's early afternoon and nobody else is in the common room; his housemates have all gone to class. He's supposed to be in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he didn't feel like going. What is Snape going to do about it, anyway? Give him detention? Make him write lines? Not likely.

Pansy should be somewhere as well, but she just stands there and stares at him, chewing on her bottom lip. Draco isn't spending his nights in the Room of Requirement anymore, but he hasn't quite shaken the insomnia. He probably looks like hell.

She kneels beside him, her dark eyes boring into his. "What is it Draco? You look unwell. I'm worried about you."

Ginny Weasley wouldn't fret over him like this. She would shake him to his senses, maybe threaten him with a good hex if he didn't snap out of his funk. But Ginny doesn't want to give him the time of day. She'd rather snog Potter all over the school.

He takes Pansy's hands. She's been kind to him these past months. She understands him and his family, his values. He tilts her chin with one hand, and he bends down to kiss her. Pansy's lips are wet, sliding against his, and they open eagerly. She climbs onto the leather sofa next to him, gripping his head, pulling him into her, breathing heavily. Draco closes his eyes. He tries to feel something, but he just feels tired.

He pushes her away. "I've got to go, Pansy," he says. He tries to say it apologetically, but his voice sounds hollow even to his own ears.

He's still at Hogwarts, but on some level it's like he's already gone, hiding away at the Manor with the Dark Lord and his mad aunt.

* * *

The antique cabinet opens, and Bellatrix Lestrange steps into the Room of Requirement. She grins at Draco. "Are you ready, nephew?" she whispers, "This is your great moment."

His throat is dry, so he nods.

The door opens again, and behind Bellatrix come the Carrow siblings, squat and trollish, then Yaxley and Rowle. Gibbon follows. He knows them all from the Manor, and some of them from earlier still, from his childhood. Yaxley is a good friend of Father's.

They crowd into the already crowded room, eyeing him roughly, their wands out. Draco didn't expect so many of them to show up tonight.

The cabinet door opens again, and Fenrir Greyback steps out of it.

Draco takes a step back, hitting the pile of clutter behind him. The werewolf radiates the stench of blood and rubbish. Draco's heart is beating hard. It hits him suddenly that there will be violence beyond his role with Dumbledore. Others could be hurt, could be killed. The werewolf looks hungry.

 _What have I done?_ he thinks. But it's too late now for second guessing. He's made his choice. Maybe he should have listened to Ginny, talked to the Headmaster, or maybe it wouldn't have made any difference.

Draco grips his wand and tries to still his pounding heart. He catches Yaxley's eye, and an ugly leer spreads across the big Death Eater's face. "Let's go kill some Mudbloods," he hisses. And he means it.

* * *

Ginny

Ginny feels the Felix potion coursing through her. There's tension in the air, like something tangible, but she feels up for the fight. Her wand is out. Beside her, Ron and Neville are ready, their eyes shining. Ron is holding the Marauder's map, and they know Draco is in the Room. They all know it, even without the map, because standing here feels like the right place to be.

Ginny wonders if he's alone. She wants to get to him first, to talk him down. She thinks she can do it. She feels his uncertainly, like he needs her now more than he's ever needed anyone. His need burns in her blood, pulses through her together with the potion. If she could just take his hand, pull him towards her and away from whatever he's gotten himself into.

She stands a little apart from her brother, a little ahead of Neville, and her eyes never leave the bare stretch of stone.

The Room of Requirement opens, but it isn't Draco who steps out. Bellatrix Lestrange looks around, appraising the seventh floor hallway, a hateful smear of a grin cut across her face. There are others behind her, far more Death Eaters than Ginny could have imagined entering the castle. Then Draco.

His grey eyes meet hers. His face is white. He mouths something at her. _Run._

Then everything goes dark.

She's never been in such impenetrable blackness. It must be Fred and George's Peruvian Darkness Powder. Ginny feels around and grips Neville's shoulder. "We've got to follow them!" she cries.

They bumble around, holding on to each other and to the walls. The darkness begins to dissipate into greys, and as luck would have it, she catches sight of a Death Eater's boot right before it vanishes around a corner.

"They've gone up the staircase!" shouts Ron. He's seen it too. They hurry after them, racing up two stairs at a time. Sweat builds beneath her palm, and she grips her wand tighter, her lungs beginning to burn as they climb higher and higher.

"The Astronomy Tower," says Neville, panting.

She pushes past him, her eyes narrowed. She's missed her chance with Draco. Now, she only wants to fight.

* * *

 _Draco_

The wind whips up

You are no assassin," says the Headmaster.

"How do you know what I am?" Draco shouts. But his voice shakes. Draco curses his nerves. He tries again: "I'm not afraid of you, old man. It is _you_ that should be afraid!" Oh Merlin, his words sound childish even to his own ears. His hand is shaking so badly he can barely hold on to his wand.

The Dark Mark hovers in the sky above the Astronomy Tower like a terrifying portent.

Dumbledore's eyes are kind, in spite of everything. He leans heavily against the wall. "I don't think you will kill me, Draco," he says softly. "Killing is not as easy as the innocent believe." He readjusts his position, wincing in pain. Draco can hear the commotion outside increase, and he feels sweat on his brow, stinging his eyes. He swats it away with one hand.

He swallows hard against the bile rising in his throat. He'd stepped over a body on the way here. Who's was it?

"Why don't you tell me, Draco, how you managed to smuggle Death Eaters into the castle." The Headmaster speaks conversationally, as if they are making small talk at a garden party.

He is probably trying to distract him, just vying for more time, but Draco can't help telling him the details. "I did it right under your nose," he says, and pride slips into his words. "I fixed the Vanishing Cabinet, the one Montague got stuck in last year." Once he begins talking, he doesn't stop. He tells Dumbledore everything, even about the Imperius curse and the enchanted Galleons. It calms Draco down, gives him something else to focus on other than the glaring fact that he has the Headmaster at wandpoint, yet they both know that he is too weak to kill him.

Ginny was right. Dumbledore knew all along. He may have been hazy on the details, but Dumbledore knew that for all these months Draco had been plotting his demise.

Yet what does it matter? The old man will die tonight either way. And Draco will have to do it. He can wait for the others to fight their way back up to the tower, but he needs to be the one. _Avada Kadavra._ He just needs to say it.

"There is little time, Draco," Dumbledore whispers, distracting his thoughts. The clamour on the other side of the door has gotten so loud that the other Death Eaters seem steps away from the tower. "Let us discuss your options."

"My options!" Draco sounds desperate and he knows it. He abandons the pretense of bravado that has long slipped away. He can feel his panic bubbling out of him. "I haven't got any options, do I? I've got to do to this, or he'll kill me. He'll kill my whole family." Saying it out loud in front of Dumbledore terrifies him. Draco can feel himself shaking.

"Come over to the right side, Draco," says the Headmaster. His voice is never above a ragged whisper, but it feels booming in his ears. "We can hide you more completely than you can imagine. We can protect your family, Draco. Come over to our side."

"But I've gotten this far, haven't I?" he whispers. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here…and I've got you at my mercy."

"No, Draco. It is my mercy, and not yours, which matters now."

He stares at Dumbledore. The life seems to be seeping out of the old man of its own accord. He hears footsteps pounding below. It's too late; they're too close, and soon they will overwhelm the Astronomy Tower and force Draco to finish the job.

Draco shuts his eyes a moment, the wind whipping his hair, roaring in his ears. Ginny was right. He's a shit Death Eater. He wants to be on her side. He wants to be fighting with her, not against her.

Most of all, he doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't want to live in this perpetual fear and violence.

His wand arm drops leaden to his side. "All right," he whispers.

"Good Draco. Good." Dumbledore's smile is genuine despite his evident pain. "You must bring me Professor Snape. Can you do that Draco?"

He stares disbelievingly at the Headmaster. "Snape's not on your side, you fool!" There is a bang and loud tussle just outside the door. Both Draco and Dumbledore watch it wobble on its hinges.

"Never mind, Draco. They are coming now, it is too late. Listen to me. Do not follow them out of the castle tonight. Whatever happens, you must find Minerva and tell her your decision."

"Professor McGonagall? The old hag hates me. She'll never believe me, not after she realizes I've let Death Eaters into the castle."

"We are not alone, Draco. There's someone here listening. He has heard everything that you've said tonight, and he will vouch for you."

Draco's laugh sounds unhinged. "There's nobody here! You've gone barmy!"

"You will come over to our side, won't you Draco? Perhaps you should say it again, to leave no doubt."

Draco lowers his eyes, unable to face the Headmaster's steady, kind stare. His gaze falls on the two brooms abandoned at the edge of the tower. He exhales sharply, closing his eyes. "Yes, all right? I'm not… I'm not a killer. I don't want to hurt you, okay? I don't want to be a Death Eater."

At that moment the door bangs open and four Death Eaters shove their way onto the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

 **A/N** Sorry for the delay, and thank you to all those who reviewed and followed the story! Special extra thanks to mirrorkinomoto for commenting on each chapter :)


End file.
